


Second in Command

by LadyRazorsharp



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Christchurch - Freeform, Corporate life, Gen, Holy Rosary, Induced coma, Intubation, Near Death Experiences, New Zealand, Non-Explicit Sex, Philanthropy, Physical Therapy, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prisoner of War, Roman Catholicism, Sex in Space, Traumatic Brain Injury, cardiac arrest - Freeform, earthquake, hospital food, lengthy hospital stay, mention of gordon's hydrofoil crash, neurological concerns, self destruct code, whumptastic, wisdom from beyond the grave
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2020-01-30
Packaged: 2020-07-18 01:14:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 13
Words: 44,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19966291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRazorsharp/pseuds/LadyRazorsharp
Summary: Scott suffers a severe injury while working an earthquake in Christchurch, New Zealand, and Virgil must find the answer to the question:What do you do when you suddenly have the job you never wanted?





	1. Chapter 1

**One: Organized Chaos**

They hit the doors of the ER at full tilt, crashing their way into the busy triage area. Of course it would be full, Virgil thought with some part of his brain not taken up with the horrors at hand; the quake had hit at precisely 0315 Christchurch time, and the majority of the injured and walking wounded were wearing pajamas and slippers. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught sight of a dark-skinned toddler in dusty footed jammies, one chubby hand clutching a well-loved Winnie the Pooh bear as he cried against his father’s shoulder. For a heart-stopping moment, the child was Fermat, Brains’ little son, but then he blinked and the child became a stranger again. Fermat was far away, visiting Moffie’s parents; something that Virgil was sure Brains was glad for at this moment.

 _Focus, Virg,_ snapped a voice in his ear, cutting through the miasma of confusion.

Scott’s voice. Commanding, centering, grounding, as it always was.

Except right now, it was only in Virgil’s memory.

The man who owned that voice was lying on the stretcher being hustled at speed down the endless hallway, an orderly and a nurse on each side. Up ahead, three doctors in white coats awaited them: Two men and one woman, all wearing identical expressions of intense concentration.

“What have we got?” one of the men barked out, as admin staff and visitors scurried out of their path.

“Male, twenty-seven, blunt force trauma to the chest and abdomen,” one of the nurses–a tall, blonde man with wire-framed glasses–called back as they slid into the treatment room. “Suspected skull fracture. Pulse is steady but BP is dropping.”

One of the orderlies tugged the curtain around the bed, and Virgil took a step forward to ensure he was within the boundary. Among the scrubs and whites, his uniform stood out with its bright pop of color, and suddenly he felt every ounce of the gear hanging off of him; the adrenaline must be draining away.

On the bed, Scott’s uniform was being sliced from him in neat, quick cuts by two pairs of shining scissors. When they peeled the neoprene from his torso, Virgil couldn’t help a short hiss of breath between his teeth; Scott’s proudly-earned six pack was mottled with deep purple and magenta. _There’s your low BP,_ he muttered to himself, as sensors were attached to Scott’s pale skin. He shuddered, unable to help but wonder if the concrete that had buried Scott had turned his insides into mincemeat. He fought back a sudden wave of nausea; he didn’t think he’d ever touch a mince pie again as long as he lived.

“Have we got a name for our friend here?” The doctor–a muscular man with ebony skin and a crop of dreds bundled into a neat bun at the crown of his head–didn’t look up from the monitor, but everyone else glanced at Virgil.

“Scott,” he supplied, hearing his voice as if it were someone else’s. “His name’s Scott.” He swallowed back the words: _He’s my big brother._ Time enough for that later, if necessary.

“You guys from International Rescue?” One of the nurses chimed in, lifting Scott’s baldric away as her counterpart across the bed attempted to slice through the anchor strap and belt.

“Yes. Here, use this.” Virgil produced his multi-tool from his belt and handed to her. “Save your scissors; it’s tough.”

The two nurses shared a glance across Scott’s limp form, but sure enough, the tool cut through the straps like a hot knife through butter, and the first nurse handed both tool and baldric to Virgil.

On the bed, Scott had begun to moan, unintelligible words falling from his swollen lips. “Virg–Virg’l–watch–”

“Who’s Virgil?” The doctor spun to look at the second iR member in the room. “Is that you?”

“Yeah.” He took a step forward next to the doctor, but the action didn’t stop around them for a second. Dropping the baldric on the floor, Virgil gently caught Scott’s hand in both of his. “I’m here, Scotty, I’m here.” He squeezed the slack fingers. “It’s gonna be okay. You’re safe.”

Blue eyes flickered, then fastened blearily on Virgil’s face. “Th’hell happ–happened–”

“Quake. Christchurch. You’re in the hospital. You’re safe.” Virgil held the ocean-deep gaze with his own amber one, willing Scott to understand. “Everyone else is okay.”

“Got them…in time?”

Virgil smiled. “It was close, but we made it.” He leaned over Scott and spoke into his ear. “You let them take care of you, okay boss? I’ll be right here.”

A ghost of a smile passed over Scott’s dusty face. “You’re th’boss now.”

And with that, Scott coded, sending everyone into organized chaos.


	2. Three Minutes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Three minutes. That's all Virgil needs.

_ Warning: Possible trigger for religion (Catholicism). _

“Virg--”

The comm went off for the third time in as many minutes, but once again he swiped it away, sending it back into silence. He didn't mean to shut John out; Scott was  _ his _ brother too, but he just needed a minute. Just a minute to process what he'd been given and what they could have lost, all in the same terrible moment.

Like a holographic jack-in-the-box, John’s form popped back into view, eyes blazing, body rigid.  _ “Don’t,” _ he snarled.

“Sorry. Been a lot going on.” Virgil pinched the bridge of his nose with his right hand, willing his breath to slow. He would not lose it. He  _ would not. _ Breathe. 

“What’s Scott's status?” John continued, hands dancing in the air. “I’ve lost his bio readings, so either the suit’s malfunctioning or he’s not wearing it.” The sea-glass eyes drilled him mercilessly, demanding an answer.

Something snapped in Virgil’s chest at his brother’s tone. Ice water ran through his veins, and when he spoke, he was surprised that his breath wasn’t fogging on the air. “Docs confirmed what we suspected: Internal bleeding from blunt force trauma to his abdomen, caused by being crushed under several hundred pounds of falling concrete. He may have a skull fracture as well; they’re going to do a scan ASAP.” 

John’s eyes squeezed shut and his jaw knotted, but he said nothing, except: “He’s in surgery?”

“Yeah. Been there for about half an hour. They had to restart his heart first.”

John’s already ghostly visage paled. “Oh, God.”

“Right after he told me I was the boss.”

Virgil was all too aware of his own heart thudding in his ears as John weighed all the implications of that statement. “He transferred chain of command to you?”

“Yeah, I guess he did.” The weight of the words hit him like a two-by-four between the eyes, and Virgil tipped forward to rest his elbows on knees and head in his hands. “He did,” he echoed.

John was silent a moment, then: “Virg, I have to loop you in as Field Commander.” It was said quietly, but once again, the words thudded into Virgil’s body as if they were hammer blows.

“Just gimme a minute, Jay.” They didn’t have a minute, not really, but he just needed a few more seconds to get his head in the right place.

“That’s about all you’ve got, but I’ll make sure you have it,” John replied. “I’m shutting off your comm for three minutes. After that, we need you back in the game.”

Virgil raised his head to smile thinly at John through tears. “Thanks, Coach. I’ll be ready.”

John dipped his chin once, and disappeared. In five seconds, the iR symbol of Virgil’s comm switched from green to red, with a ‘STANDBY’ message in place of ‘ACTIVE.’ Virgil knew that at that moment, John would be giving Gordon and Alan a brief update, and that both would be anxiously awaiting further info.

As he stood contemplating the double doors that had swallowed Scott and his entourage, Virgil found himself digging into one of the pouches on his baldric that had not seen the wear and tear of the others. Though space was at a premium, he had always sacrificed one spot for a particular item, and he brought it out now, to drape it across his gloved palm.

A rosary. His mother’s rosary, with smooth glass beads the color of Scott’s eyes, linked together by a sturdy silver chain, ending in a silver crucifix.

_ Heavy, fragrant smoke. The itch of lace around his neck. Red letters bleeding on an onion-skin page. _

_ Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me... _

A tiny smile flitted over Virgil’s face; he wondered how many times his mother had held her ‘Jesus beads,’ as a pre-schooler Alan had called them, and prayed for her five rambunctious boys. He groped for the words she murmured just below his hearing, but they were too far gone for recall, and he ended up closing his fist over the sacred object and holding it against his lips, then his forehead.

“Scotty’s in trouble, Mom,” he whispered. “We need him back.”


	3. Solidarity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now the waiting begins...

Two hours in, Gordon and Alan had arrived in civvies, bringing Virgil’s duffel bag from ‘Two so he could get out of the neoprene monkey suit. A quiet word with a nurse, and he’d even been able to snag a quick shower in a staff locker room. By the time he came back to the waiting area, John was there, also in civvies and talking quietly with Kayo and Grandma. As one, they moved to surround him in a tight, warm knot of silent support.

“Any news?” he asked, seeing the answer on their faces but still feeling the need to ask.

“No,” said Ruth, sinking down into a chair beside Alan, who laid his head on her shoulder. “I suppose no news is good news, for now.” 

And so they waited. Virgil wandered to the window, watching the flow of traffic without really seeing it. The sun began to dip lower and lower in the sky, and still they waited.

Kayo came to give him a brief hug and press a kiss to his temple, but she left him with his thoughts and the burden he’d been entrusted with. Gordon walked over, making a restless circuit of the space, and let his hand rest on Virgil’s shoulder as he moved past. Ruth brought him a cup of machine coffee that smelled much better than it tasted, but at least it banished the urge to curl up and hope that this was all just a bad dream.

As the last rays of the sun left the sky, Virgil sat and thumbed the beads in his hand, vague shadows of the prayers he’d learned as a child flitting through his mind. He’d known them by heart once, but now the motion was more a way to call back his mother’s presence, rather than any ritual of his own. Over and over the smooth gems passed through his fingers, and with every brush of the crucifix at the end of the circuit, he renewed his plea:  _ Let me give this job back to the one it belongs to. _

At long last, the surgical team appeared, looking grey and gaunt with fatigue. Virgil stood and reached out to Kayo, who rose from her seat and walked with him. To their credit, the rest of the family didn’t move forward to pounce on the surgeons, but stayed at his back in a wall of Tracy solidarity.

“Virgil Tracy?” The surgeon, a fifty-something woman, swept the group with her dusty-green eyes. Her gaze settled on Virgil, and she extended her hand to him. “I’m Dr. Vera Stuart, I’m the head thoracic surgeon here at Auckland Memorial. This is Dr. Charles Morton, he's our head neurosurgeon.” She gestured to a man with bronzed skin and a thick tail of curly hair falling down his back, who gave a tired smile. 

“How do you do?” Dr. Morton stepped forward to shake Virgil’s hand, then let out a sigh. “It was a difficult surgery, but Scott came through it better than we expected.”

“Thank God,” said Ruth, as the family sagged in relief. “He’s a tough cookie.”

Dr. Morton smiled. “He’s resilient,” he agreed. “It helps that he’s young, healthy, and in perfect shape, which will assist in his recovery. However, our scan showed that he does indeed have a skull fracture that was pressing on his brain. I lifted the bone and set it back in place, and reinforced it with a material that will graft onto the bone as it heals.” He waited for a moment as the family absorbed this information, then continued. “His brain had begun to swell underneath the fracture, so we are keeping him in a medicated coma in hopes of keeping the swelling down, and to encourage his brain to begin healing.”

Virgil found his voice after a few tries. “Will he be all right?”

Dr. Stuart folded her arms over her sea-green scrubs. “He sustained lacerations to his liver, and we had to remove his spleen and gallbladder,” she explained. “I was glad to find that his heart was unaffected, which is most definitely in our favor, and his lungs are sound, if bruised. With the induced coma, he’s been placed on a ventilator, so his lungs will have the opportunity to rest and heal.”

Kayo curled against Virgil’s side, her face buried in his shoulder. Behind him, he heard someone emit a quiet sob, and the hushed words of comfort that answered.

“His kidneys were bruised, so when you’re allowed to see him, don’t be alarmed by what you see coming from the catheter,” Dr. Stuart cautioned. “We checked them thoroughly, and the good news is that he’ll get to keep them both.”

“Definitely good news,” John put in from Virgil’s left. “How long will you keep him in the coma?”

“It’s our goal to bring him out in a week’s time,” said Dr. Morton, sharing a glance with Dr. Stuart. “We want to keep him under as little as possible, so we’ll check him daily to see how he’s doing. If the swelling is going down and he’s responding well, then we’ll bring him out of it.”

Gordon’s voice from Kayo’s right was softer than Virgil had ever heard it, bringing back memories of another bedside with another young life hanging in the balance. “What happens if...if he doesn’t get better?”

“If his body heals, but his brain remains damaged, we will assess the extent of his impairment and move forward,” said Dr. Morton. “He’ll have to show us what he’s capable of and what may be a struggle.”

Virgil felt the nausea roll over him again, all sorts of nightmare images flitting through his mind of Scott alive, but never again to be the strong, vital man he was just hours earlier. He forced the images back into their dark cupboard of horrors and slammed the door. “When will you know that he’s out of danger?”

Dr. Stuart took a deep breath. “We’ll know more in the next twenty-four hours, as we manage his sedation and keep an eye on his brain activity.” She gave them all a gentle smile. “I know it’s not much to go on, but like you said, Mrs. Tracy: Scott is tough, and I think he’ll put everything he has into getting well.”

Virgil put out his hand again to both doctors. “Thank you,” he rasped through a dry throat. “I know you did everything you could.” He glanced behind him at his family, then turned back to the doctors. “When can we see him?”


	4. Nightmares and Conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More waiting as reality slowly begins to sink in...

_ Warning: Discussion of patient with severe traumatic brain injury. Discussion of religion (Catholicism). _

At first, they were only allowed to see him through a window in the ICU, and Virgil had to admit that what he saw didn’t look much like the brother whose forehead he’d kissed before letting him go into surgery. Pale and swaddled with padding and gauze, the pilot looked much younger than his twenty-seven years. Tubes and hoses and lines criss-crossed his limp frame, and a bank of holographic monitors projected on the wall behind him tracked every heartbeat and flicker of brain activity. Most shocking of all was the cap of bandages that replaced his thick brown hair, and despite the disturbing sight before him, a smile flitted over Virgil’s face; it would be a while before Scott could have a super shiny coif again. 

When he’d assured himself that the doctors had indeed done all they could, he stepped back to let John take his place at the window and let Kayo push him into a chair for a few moments’ rest. He closed his eyes, and--

_ Instantly, he was back on the island, looking into a pair of brilliant blue eyes--but there was something wrong, something missing deep within those eyes that tore at him with its absence. _

_ A familiar voice quietly broke the morning stillness: “Let’s get you fixed up,” said the voice, accompanied by a liquid squish.  _

_ A laugh, in a tone that he knew--only it was broken, somehow.  _

_ “Super shiny,” he heard the first voice say, and with a shock, he realized that it was his own voice. The image before him resolved into Scott, only this was a nightmare version; the strong body now thin, its limbs twisted, strapped into a wheelchair.  _

_ Gently, Virgil combed hair gel into the regrown coif, smiling as the stranger with Scott’s eyes blinked up at him. _

_ “Vvv,” said Scott, lips twisting and pursing. “Vvvrrrrg.” _

_ “That’s right.” He reached out to touch the knotted fist that had once made Thunderbird One dance in the endless blue. “Virgil. Say it?” _

_ The eyes lit up, and the mouth spread wide in a grin. “Viiirrggl!” Then the eyes filled with tears, and the face crumpled. “Brrrrd.” _

_ It took Virgil a moment, but then it was as if someone had hammered a stake into his heart. “‘Bird,” he breathed. “You mean ‘Thunderbird,’ Scotty?” _

_ “Brrrd,” Scott repeated. “Zahrrrgo.” _

_ Virgil bit his lip and hugged Scott to him, determined that his brother not see his tears. “That’s right,” he managed through a throat so tight that it ached. “Thunderbirds are go.” _

“Virgil?”

Kayo’s voice pulled him from the nightmare, and he surfaced with a gasp. His eyes popped open to reveal her standing over him, worry creasing her pretty face. “You all right?” she asked.

“Yeah, I was--” He rubbed a hand over his face, grimacing at the sound of stubble. “Just dreaming. Awful.”

“I’m not surprised.” She sat on the arm of the chair and reached out to wipe a tear from his cheek. “They said he’s stable enough for us to go in and sit with him.” She frowned. “You were asleep, so I took the first shift; I’m sorry I didn’t wake you.”

“No, it’s all right.” He patted her knee. “Thanks for doing that. How is he?”

_ Like someone who’s been buried under a literal ton of concrete, _ said her expression, but she only said: “He looks like he’s resting comfortably. He’s still doing okay.” 

“Good. Where is everybody?” he asked, glancing at the empty room.

“Alan and Gordon are sleeping in the room next to Scott. Grandma went downstairs to find us some food. John’s stretching his legs near the lobby; he’s hoping to run into Brains, who’s due to arrive at any moment.” She sighed and stretched her own lean frame, wincing as her vertebrae popped. “Penny will be here soon; she said she had things to discuss with you.”

Of course Penny would come; he’d known that as soon as John had slotted him into the comm loop as Field Commander. Virgil had always suspected that Penny was much more than just their London agent, that his father had enlisted her as a keeper of International Rescue’s secrets. Now that he was the operating first officer, Virgil had need-to-know that only Penny’s information would satisfy. He shook his head; in all the years his family had known her, he’d never dreaded her visits. He supposed that there was a first time for everything.

“Right,” was all he said aloud. “I should have known that was coming.” He shook off the last vestiges of the nightmare; at this point, nothing about Scott’s condition was certain, other than that he was alive--and even that could change, but it would do no good to sit here and stew about it. He dipped a hand into his pocket and felt the rosary beads again, letting their smooth surfaces whisper a modicum of comfort.

Soon, John reappeared with Brains in tow. The engineer’s face was composed, but worry flickered in the depths of his eyes, and Virgil brought him in for a brief hug. Brains stiffened for a moment; like John, physical affection was difficult for him, but after a few heartbeats, he relaxed into the larger man’s embrace and gave a deep sigh. “I’m sorry, Virgil,” was all he said, and when they parted, Brains removed his glasses to wipe his eyes. “How is S-Scott?”

“They finally gave us permission to enter his room. Kayo was in with him a little bit ago; she said he’s resting comfortably, as far as she could tell. Lady Penelope is on her way to discuss...things,” Virgil added lamely, gesturing to the other members of iR scattered about the lounge. “I’d appreciate it if you were in on the conversation.”

Brains blinked. “Oh! Ah, of course.” He nodded. “I’d b-be happy to.”

Grandma reappeared, lugging a shopping bag loaded with snacks, and everyone found something that would quiet rumbling stomachs. Gordon and Alan emerged, sleep-rumpled, to rummage through the bag, eschewing coffee to amble down to the soda machine. When at last they were replete, everyone fanned out in a holding pattern to await Penny’s arrival. 

Gordon relieved Grandma at Scott’s bedside, and came back grim-faced. Virgil watched as Alan tried to say comforting words on his way to visit Scott, but the aquanaut didn’t respond, and his little brother followed him with sad eyes as Gordon sank into a chair by the window and pulled his knees up to his chest. Alan glanced toward Virgil, who shrugged and shook his head. Alan sighed, and with a last backward glance at his usual partner in crime, headed into Scott’s room.

This wouldn’t do, Virgil thought. Normally the two youngest, so alike in vibrant personality and love of mischief that they were often called ‘the Terrible Twins’ by the rest of the family, could almost finish each other’s sentences. It pained Virgil to see Gordon shut Alan out like this, so he got to his feet to move closer to his next youngest brother.

“Hey, fishie,” Virgil said, perching on a nearby chair. “Wanna talk about it?” As he spoke, Virgil was reminded that Alan had been just a kid when Gordon went through his ordeal, and had been sheltered from many of the harrowing details. Even in a family as close as theirs, some paths had to be walked alone, and this was Gordon’s.

The aquanaut shrugged, eyes on the window. “Not really. Not much to talk about anyway; Scott’s just lying there, wired for sound. Didn’t even know I was there.”

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Virgil soothed. “I’d like to think that in some small way, Scott knows we’re here. He knows deep down that we’d never pack up and leave him here by himself. That’s ridiculous.”

Gordon said nothing, but nodded miserably. After a long, thoughtful moment, however, his voice returned, hushed and trembling slightly. “Virg...did--was that--is that how I looked, y’know, after my crash?”

Virgil sighed inwardly. Hospitals made Gordon nervous even when he was just visiting. To see his big brother laid out and on a form of life support must have shaken him to the core. “Yeah, you looked like that, only yours was worse.” He reached out and squeezed Gordon’s shoulder. “But look at how that turned out.”

Gordon turned to look at Virgil, tears evident on his face. “Yeah. At least Scotty didn’t have his spine ripped in half.”

An echo of that terrible day rolled through Virgil, leaving him cold with the nightmare images front and center once more. Somehow, he managed a small smile. “From what the doctors said, he’ll be back with us in a few days. I wouldn’t worry, Gordy. He’s in good hands.”

The click of heels on tile sounded in the hallway, and Virgil turned to look up into the lovely face of Lady Penelope Creighton-Ward. “Hey, Penny,” he murmured, accepting her embrace as one of the family. “Good to see you.”

She pulled away with a sad smile. “It’s good to see you, too--though I wish it were under better circumstances. How is Scott doing?”

“He’s resting. The doctors were pleased with how the surgery came out.”

“Thank God.” She looked toward Gordon, and motioned Virgil a few steps away from the aquanaut. “How is  _ he?” _

“Seeing Scott like this has spooked him good,” Virgil replied. “This hits way too close to home for him.”

She nodded, bottom lip between her teeth. “I’m sure.” She glanced back at Gordon, then looked up at Virgil. “We do need to talk, you and I, but--would you mind terribly if I had some time with him?”

Virgil blinked, wondering why in the world she would ask such a question--and then realized she was speaking to him as she would to Scott. “No, by all means. We’re here for the duration.”

She smiled, and rose on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek before moving over to Gordon. “Dearest,” she said, kneeling beside him and threading her fingers through his mop of honey-colored waves. Gordon turned to study her for a long moment, then slipped his arms around her and clung while she responded in kind, murmuring words of comfort in his ear.

Kayo was waiting for him when he moved back toward the rest of the group, and she slipped her hand into his. “I’m glad they have each other,” she mused, leaning her head against his shoulder.

Virgil kissed her forehead. “I’m so glad I have  _ you.” _

She raised her face to his, clear peridot eyes shining with love for him. “There’s absolutely no other place I’d rather be.”

Later that night, Virgil woke with a start as someone touched him on the arm. Glancing down, he saw that Kayo was still resting on his chest, and he looked up into Grandma’s worried face.

“The doctor needs to talk to you, honey,” she murmured, so as not to wake her granddaughter. 

With a huge yawn, Virgil carefully got to his feet, allowing Grandma to slide into his place for Kayo to curl up with her head in Ruth’s lap. Ruth immediately began stroking the sleek dark hair beneath her hands, and Kayo sleepily rearranged herself into a more comfortable position.

The blinds to Scott’s room had not been drawn, and through the slats he could see Dr. Morton standing over the pilot, accompanied by a woman in a white coat and a young man who looked no older than Alan. Both of the newcomers held clipboards and were taking notes as the doctor spoke, and Virgil found himself frowning as he entered the hushed room.

“You wanted to speak to me?” he asked the room, and as one, the trio turned toward him.

“Yes,” said Dr. Morton, turning away to consult one of the virtual screens. “Scott’s running a fever. We’re not sure if it’s an infection, or if his brain injury is making it difficult for his temperature to regulate. It’s too early to tell which it might be, but we want to be prepared for either situation.”

Virgil’s mouth went dry. “How soon will you know for sure?”

“We’ve taken a blood sample, and it’s been sent off to the lab. We’ll have the results shortly.” Dr. Morton gave him a small smile. “The good news is that his brain activity is picking up. Just a few bumps in the road, that’s all.”

Virgil knew that ‘a few bumps’ could turn into ‘sinkholes and boulders’ very quickly, but he didn’t comment. “Thank you for keeping me updated. My brothers and I are trained responders, so if anything goes haywire while we’re watching, we’ll let you know.”

Dr. Morton left on silent feet, his students trailing behind, and Virgil settled into the chair beside Scott. He sat and watched his brother sleep, taking in every inch of the slack frame as if to engrave it on his memory.

How many times, he wondered, had he caught those hands in his, pulling him to safety? How many times had he heard that voice, either commanding, or in jest, or yelling his name? How many times had he looked into those blue-topaz eyes and understood without a word what Scott needed him to do?

How many times, Virgil thought, had he drawn strength from Scott when loss threatened to grind them into the dirt? When he could not go on, he’d taken his cue from his elder brother, who always stood tall, eyes forward, spine straight.

“And now they’re looking at  _ me,” _ he murmured to his sleeping sibling. “I don’t know how you do this.” He snorted. “I didn’t think to ask.” He rubbed his eyes. “I’m gonna level with you, Scooter. When Dad started International Rescue, I was glad that he picked you to be the leader. And I know that you got that job not because you’re the oldest, but because you were made for it.” He reclined the chair and kicked his boots up on the footrest, lacing his hands together over his chest, as if they were having a conversation at home in the lounge. “Right before we had our shakedown, Dad came to me one night and asked me to do everything I could to support you. I promised him I would.” He sighed again, heavier this time. “So here I am. I just want you to know that I never wanted this job, so--” He gestured toward the machines and readouts. “As soon as you ditch the hardware, it’s yours.”

Scott lay unmoving as before, lashes fanned on his cheeks, his chest rising and falling with the rhythm of the vent. Virgil sat and watched him again, and then pulled their mother’s rosary from his pocket to move the beads through his fingers. The crucifix gleamed in the low lighting as it swung from the chain, its silvered Corpus standing out in high relief, the tiny Face cast in shadow. Virgil wished he could remember how to pray like his mother had; if nothing else, it would pass the time. He knew he could get on his phone and look up the words he’d forgotten long ago, but instead he closed his eyes and tried to listen back through the years as his mother knelt before the antique Crucifix on their living room wall. He could almost hear her voice, musical and soothing as the prayers rolled from her lips.

He lowered the beads to his lap and let his head fall back against the chair. In moments, he was fast asleep.


	5. The Cabin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, comfort comes from a place where we least expect it.

He’d never been in a place so green.

Even the air smelled green, of earth and moss and growing things left to their own devices, to find their own way without hindrance. He brushed the ferns with his fingertips, an owl teasing his ears with soft calls from somewhere out of sight.

That was when he saw the cabin.

It was nearly the color of the landscape itself, its weather-worn walls nearly overgrown with moss. The path to its door was barely visible, no more than a forest trail, but there were footprints–recent, if he recalled his scouting days correctly–in the spongy dirt. He got to his feet and moved through the emerald jewel-box of a clearing, heading toward the cabin.

His hand hesitated on the bronze doorknob. What was inside? Should he just turn and walk away? Maybe it wasn’t a cabin; maybe it was more like a witch’s cottage in some Grimm’s tale come to life. If that was the case, he should turn and run.

He’d always been curious, too curious for his own good. He had to know how things worked, what made them tick. An unanswered question like this was too tantalizing to pass up, so he turned the knob and stepped inside.

He expected to find a cold, musty room filled with cobwebs and shadows–or an evil witch presiding over a groaning table of sweets–but to his surprise, the room was warm and smelt of rosemary. The furnishings were plain but well-polished; oak, he thought, lightly caressing a shiny tabletop. By the window there were two old wingback chairs, ornately carved and upholstered with dusty green velvet. Between them lay a squat oak table, which at this moment held a tray with a Franciscan ‘Desert Rose’ tea service. There was steam wafting from the pot, and a plate of golden shortbread cookies lay nearby.

He walked to the table and picked up one of the cups, turning it over in his hands. He’d always liked this pattern; it felt sturdy enough for someone like him to use. One corner of his mouth curled in a fond smile; it was certainly tough enough for a family of five boys who were sometimes a bit careless. It had a good supply of open stock, too, in case one–or several–of those boys were to drop a plate by accident.

He’d been so engrossed in studying the familiar tableware that he hadn’t heard the soft steps come up behind him. 

“Hello, Virgil,” said a warm feminine voice. “You’re just in time, sweetheart.”

He whirled around to face the speaker, and the cup fell from nerveless fingers to thump against the boards.

_ “–Mom?” _


	6. A Little Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Virgil gets a timely reminder: Be brave, and have a little faith.

As the pilot of Thunderbird Two, Virgil knew that a heavy snowpack after a few days of above-freezing temperatures was a recipe for disaster. Time and again he’d rescued hapless climbers and skiers from entombing loads of white, all his senses poised to feel the rumblings of another avalanche. However, that was now, after years of training and all the advanced gear Tracy money could buy.

When Virgil was eleven years old, his father had decided to take them all to Lake Tahoe for a winter vacation. They’d had a wonderful white Christmas in the little cabin, snug and cozy as they opened presents and drank hot chocolate and watched the snow fall steadily outside the windows of the A-frame. However, four days indoors, and everyone--even John, usually content to stay by the fire and read--was feeling a little stir crazy. Out into the snow they’d gone, wrestling and rolling and slapping each other in the face with handfuls of white fluff as the sun sparkled overhead in a crystal-blue sky.

He couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen his mother alive that day. Alan had been playing near a stand of pines at the base of the hill behind the house, his mother following close behind. He’d been about to call out to her when Gordon had dumped a handful of snow down the back of his neck, and the battle was joined.

Then the mountain came roaring down on top of them, sweeping her out of their lives forever.

He didn’t see her again until the mountain rescue team dug her out. He would never forget the sight of her, blue-white and stiff, arms locked around Alan’s small frame. Alan was also blue with cold, but where she was still, he was crying, his tears freezing on his freckled cheeks. She had saved him. She had protected him with everything she had, and she was gone.

The woman standing before Virgil now looked just like the woman who’d helped him zip up his coat and find his hat before sending him outside that late December morning. Her hair was burnished auburn; her sea-green eyes shone. She reached down and took his hand in hers, and her skin was warm.

“Mom,” he breathed, not a question this time.

She smiled. “My beautiful, strong boy, grown into a man.” She reached up and touched his face. “How I’ve missed you.” 

Virgil tentatively reached out to touch her hair as it lay over her shoulder. “I’ve missed you too,” he echoed. “We all have.”

“I know.” Lucy stood and looked at him for a long moment, then blinked as if remembering herself and gestured to the two chairs by the window. “Sit down, son. Let’s talk.”

He sat in one of the antique chairs as she retrieved the cup he’d dropped, searching for words to say as she sat in the opposite chair and filled the cup with fragrant brew, adding milk and sugar just as he liked. She placed a cookie on the saucer and handed it to him. It was all so normal, just the kind of afternoon he’d longed to spend with her, and it took his breath away.

He frowned into his caramelly tea. He’d come here for a reason, he needed to talk to her about...something. What was it? He tried to think, but all he wanted was to sit here with her, to be with her for as long as he possibly could. 

“Son, we need to talk about Scott.” Her eyes were clear but grave, and urgency slammed back into him. _ Yes. That’s what this is about. _ He put the cup down untouched, all his attention focused on her.

“He’s going to need your help to get through this,” Lucy continued. “You can’t let him down. Do you understand?”

“I’m trying to,” he admitted. “I’m always the one who’s prepared for everything, but this--” He shook his head. “I’m at a loss.”

“No, you’re not,” she soothed. “He wouldn’t have trusted you with it if he didn’t think you could handle it.” She was silent a moment. “You just don’t  _ want  _ to, that’s all,” she added, not unkindly.

Virgil shot his mother a wry smile. “You always could see through me. You’re right, I don’t want to.” He shrugged. “Am I being selfish?”

She took his hands in hers once more. “Absolutely not. This is a big responsibility, and it’s okay to feel less than adequate--just don’t  _ stay _ there.”

“It feels like admitting that he’s never coming back.” He raised his head to search his mother’s face. “He  _ has _ to come back. We can’t do this without him.”

Lucy squeezed his fingers. “Did you think you could do this without your father?”

Virgil blinked at her, drawing a long, slow breath, realization dawning. “This is--”

“It’s just the same, sweetheart. You boys do everything he could have wanted and more.” She gave him a sad smile. “He wouldn’t have been around forever, you know. You’d have had to face that someday.”

He uttered a mirthless chuckle. “Yeah. We just didn’t think ‘someday’ would come so soon.”

Her eyes went to their clasped hands. “‘Someday’ is never far enough away for those we love.”

He nodded, tears pricking his eyes. “I know.”

“Remember: This is going to be hard for Scotty, too,” said Lucy. “You might find he’s upset with you just for doing the job  _ he _ gave you.” She reached up to stroke the hair at his temple. “Go easy on him. He’s so proud.”

Virgil’s brows rose. “So you’re saying he’s going to make it? We…” he swallowed to loosen the ache in his throat. “We won’t lose him?”

She smiled and turned his hand over to stir the beads in his palm, then closed his fingers over them. “Have faith, sweetheart. Just a little faith.”

OoOoOoOoO

He was cocooned in safety, as if a pair of warm arms were wrapped around him, and he reluctantly slipped from those arms back into an air-conditioned space that tasted of disinfectant. He opened his eyes to see Scott lying unchanged, still deep within his medicated sleep. Virgil reached for his elder brother’s hand, twining the limp fingers in his own.

“I won’t let you down,” he murmured. “I promise.”


	7. Reality Crash

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The 'new normal' descends upon Virgil as International Rescue keeps on rolling.

Virgil wasn’t sure how long he sat there at Scott’s bedside, holding his hand just to make sure his brother knew he wasn’t alone. Hours, or seconds, he’d lost track, but when the soft steps entered the room, he didn’t turn around. Not yet.

“Virgil.” John, his voice quiet but sliding into his ‘command and control’ range. “We need to talk.”

With one last squeeze of Scott’s fingers, Virgil draped the bandaged hand back on the bed and turned to face the speaker. Gordon and Alan stood flanking John, all three looking at him with unreadable expressions.

Gordon shot John a glance, then turned back to Virgil. “Scott’s in good hands,” he began, not fully able to keep the horrors of his own recovery from the edges of his words. “We need to get back to work.”

“There’s a typhoon heading toward the Philippines; it’s going to make landfall sometime in the next twelve hours,” John began, tapping his wrist comm and summoning a holographic window with a weather map. In the direct center of the map lay the islands, and off to the side, the swirled icon for a major weather disturbance lay like a predator in wait. “They’re going to need us.” He flicked his gaze up to Virgil’s, catching his older brother with their mother’s eyes. “Virgil?”

His knee jerk reaction was to do what he’d been trained to do, to get to his load chute and his ‘Bird and be the miracle someone needed. He knew that’s what Scott would tell him to do, even if he couldn’t go himself. Hell, Scott  _ had _ done so, nursing a wrenched ankle or bruised ribs or a concussion while manning the comms for his siblings. Now even that had been taken away. That  _ voice _ wouldn’t be in Virgil’s ear this time.

“We’re going, right, Virg?” Alan looked from John to Virgil, a frown between his platinum brows. “I mean...that’s what we  _ do.” _

For a long moment, the tableau held, three against one. Then Virgil nodded, reaching out to clap Alan on the shoulder. “Of course it is, Al. Gordy’s right; Scott’s getting the best care possible, and like Grandma says, a watched pot never boils.” He managed a grin, Alan following suit. “Gentlemen: Thunderbirds are go.”

They took a few moments to appraise Grandma and the others of the situation, leaving strict instructions to comm them if anything changed with Scott’s condition. Quick hugs all around, and then they were off, piling into Thunderbird Two as it sat near the hospital’s helipad. 

As Virgil flipped switches and listened to his ‘Bird spool up into readiness, he realized that though the pull to stay by Scott’s side was strong, the call to action felt good. If nothing else, he thought, as the others strapped in behind him, at least doing their job would pass the time and distract them from the constant worry.

Besides, he mused, as he engaged the VTOL and listened to his brothers banter with each other, they might not be able to help Scott, but they could help others like him. With that thought firmly in mind, Virgil lifted ‘Two off the helipad and pointed the blunt nose of his beloved craft toward home.

The trip back to the island went by in a flash, and after seeing John safely onto the space elevator, they burst into the villa to suit up. When Gordon and Alan were on their way back to ‘Two, Virgil took a moment to stand in the silent house. Rarely was it ever empty; Grandma and Brains were almost constantly in residence, and if John wasn’t in space, he was usually at their father’s desk. After a moment, Virgil shuddered; the villa was too big and too quiet without its family, feeling more like an empty museum rather than a home.

_ No, _ he thought, scanning the walls and furnishings,  _ not empty. _ This museum definitely had its ghosts. He could feel his father’s gaze on the back of his neck, could smell his mother’s perfume on the cool air circulating through the house. He blinked, and for an instant, Scott was seated behind the desk--but no, he was laying in a hospital bed hundreds of miles away, feverish and fragile but  _ alive. _

_ Please don’t take him,  _ he begged his parents’ shades.  _ If he asks, tell him he can’t go with you. _

Swallowing his tears, he made his way across the lounge toward the painting of TV21 that hid his load chute, and brushed his fingers against Scott’s portrait as he passed.  _ Wish me luck big bro, _ he thought, settling back while the familiar instant of vertigo pulled at him as he tipped backwards. _ I’m gonna need it. _

Forty-eight hours later, Virgil sat in an empty conference room at the hospital, fighting back a yawn as the triumvirate of Tracy Industries’ senior board members blinked into view on the screen at the front of the room. Penelope and Brains sat at his right hand, Ruth and John on his left, and though he was grateful for their solid wall of support, he could feel the waves of exhaustion rolling off of them. They’d booked a floor of rooms at a nearby hotel and set up a temporary base of operations, but no one had been getting much sleep.

Just before the meeting, Virgil had looked down at his buzzing phone and scowled at the name on the screen:  _ Kat Kavanaugh _ . With an internal groan, he’d answered, if for no other reason than to get the intrepid reporter off his back. “Miss Kavanaugh,” he’d greeted her, in a tone he hoped sent a very clear message:  _ Go away. _

“Hello Virgil,” she’d chirped back at him. “I just needed to check in with you; I’ve heard a rumor--did I catch you at a bad time?”

Virgil wondered if she could hear him roll his eyes. “Yes,” he answered. “Yes, you did.”

“Well, it won’t take a second,” she breezed. “I don’t mean to upset you, but it’s what I heard--is Scott  _ dead?” _

His first impulse was to hang up on her, but he knew that to do so might lead her to believe it was true; a distraught Tracy unable to face the reality of Scott’s death would sell a shitload of rag mags. The day they’d rescued her at Gran Roca--after she’d been snooping around, Virgil had thought _ that _ nothing less than poetic justice--Scott had talked Kat down and gotten her on their side. She might have flirted her way into Scott’s good graces, but she hadn’t impressed Virgil, and that was who she was dealing with at the moment. 

“Well, that’s what you get for listening to the rumor mill,” he said smoothly. “He’s pretty banged up, but he’s on the mend.” Which, strictly speaking, was true.

“I’m glad to hear it,” she replied. “So who’s the head honcho while he’s out for the count?”

“We have a strict chain of command protocol in place,” he confirmed, hanging on to his politesse with both hands. “Scott designated me as the interim field commander while he is recovering. When he is deemed fit for duty, we will resume our normal roles.”

“So if I heard he was dead, whatever happened must be pretty serious,” Kat pressed. “What if he doesn’t bounce back? Will you keep the corner office?”

Her too-easy manner bit at him like a junkyard dog, sinking dagger-like teeth into his heart. “The doctors are optimistic about his prognosis,” he countered, letting a hint of annoyance into his voice. “However, as I said before, if it is determined that he needs to step down, there are pre-arranged protocols to guide our decisions.”

“John, he’s the second oldest, right?”

He didn’t like where this was going, but this was more or less common knowledge. “Correct.”

“So he’d be the one to step into his big brother’s shoes, I’m guessing. Hmmm, maybe I’d better call  _ him.” _

On the odd occasions they’d seen Virgil truly get angry, his younger brothers had nicknamed him ‘Brother Bear.’ Right now, Virgil felt every inch the wounded grizzly at the thought of Kat getting her hooks into John. “Miss Kavanaugh, I answered your call out of courtesy,” he warned. “This is a tough time for us. You’ve gotten the answers you asked for. If, however, you continue to pump my family for information, the next call you get will be from TI Legal. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” she returned, not sounding cowed in the least. “But could you just--”

He hung up on her.

Now he took a steadying breath and managed a tight smile at the three people in suits on the screen. “Good morning,” he said. “Although it’s, what, 1600 yesterday for you?” Virgil could rattle off the time differences between the South Pacific and New York in his sleep, but he felt he needed something to grease the wheels of conversation so they didn’t sit and stare at each other.  _ Scott, you are so much better at this... _

“On the dot,” said Janessa Reid, Interim CEO of Tracy Industries for the past four years. “It’s good to see you, Virgil. How is Scott today?”

Jeff had brought Janessa on board when he’d moved the family to the island, and while neither of them could have dreamt that she would eventually step into his shoes, she’d proved to be the captain that TI didn’t know it needed. Under her direction, the company had continued sailing smoothly along the course Jeff had set for it. She had kindly deep brown eyes and a ready smile, which belied the granite just under the surface. Virgil had to hand it to her; she hadn’t let herself be chipped away by the rigors of attending to the juggernaut that was Tracy Industries. When-- _ not if,  _ Virgil reminded himself--Jeff returned, he would find his company as he had left it, if not better.

“He’s still under sedation, but the doctors are optimistic,” Virgil assured her. “If he continues to improve, they’ll start weaning him off the sedation day after tomorrow.” 

Jeff’s CFO, Everett Grey, was seated to Janessa’s right, and Virgil could see the man’s thin shoulders relax just a fraction. Brilliant and meticulous, Everett had lost his own father right before Jeff disappeared, and had taken Jeff’s absence hard. Virgil didn’t want to think about how the news of Scott’s injuries had hit him. “We’re glad to hear it. I’m assuming the fever resolved itself?” 

“Thankfully, yes. They were afraid at first that he had an infection, but they explained that those with brain injuries can have difficulty regulating their body temperature.” Virgil gave him a cheery thumbs-up. “Scott’s settled back down into the normal range, so he’s making progress.”

Simon Hudson, TI’s Chief Operations Officer, nodded from his place on Janessa’s left. “Same thing happened to Miranda after her accident,” he said quietly. “The neurosurgeon said that was normal, even though it scared her father and I half to death.” As much of a family man as Jeff, Simon had come up to the board room after serving as the CEO for a TI subsidiary. When his daughter had suffered a near-drowning, Jeff had insisted Simon take as much time as he needed to care for her, and had commissioned one of his medical supply subsidiaries to fabricate several pieces of specialized equipment. With effort, Virgil put aside the memory of meeting the small blond girl with her slack features and far-away gaze, and concentrated on the business at hand. 

“So,” he began. “I suppose we needed to have this discussion sooner rather than later.”

Janessa nodded, her expression grim but determined. “As I’m sure you’re aware, Virgil, Scott has been acting as President of Tracy Industries since your father’s disappearance. Normally, Scott would retain this function even while recovering from an injury, but the nature and the seriousness of his current state make this meeting necessary.” Her brows met. “I speak for all of us here on the board when I say we wish it weren’t so.”

Virgil nodded. “That goes for all of us, too.” He felt a soft touch on his knee under the table, and reached down to clasp his grandmother’s hand with his own. “It was hectic and Scott was already suffering the effects of his injuries, but I can confirm without a doubt that he wished me to take over in his stead.”

Everett made a notation on the sheet in front of him. “Just for the sake of getting a timeline of events, can you tell us how that occurred?”

“I brought Scott in to Christchurch Memorial at 0700 local time four days ago,” Virgil began, suppressing a shudder at the memory of first using the exosuit to lift the slabs of concrete from on top of Scott, and then working with Gordon to stabilize him enough to move to TB2. “He was in and out of consciousness, but right after we arrived, he rallied enough to be semi-coherent for a few seconds.” He squeezed Ruth’s hand again. “He was anxious and agitated, so I told him something like ‘let them work, boss,’ and he looked me right in the eye and said  _ ‘You’re _ the boss now.’” He took a shuddering breath. “That was the last time I spoke with him.”

A few seconds passed in silence as they all let the weight of that statement settle, and then Janessa cleared her throat. “All right,” she said, “we’ve established Scott’s clear intent to pass his responsibilities on to Virgil. Just so we’re all on the same page, if he had not done so, according to your father’s will, his duties would have passed to you, John.”

Virgil glanced over at his redheaded brother, who nodded solemnly in acknowledgement. “Since this was Scott’s wish,” said John, “I accept this deviation from Dad’s will.” He looked at Virgil, turquoise eyes as calm as the surface of an undisturbed pool. “I also accept the fact that if for some reason Virgil is incapacitated, these duties pass down to me. I name my brother Gordon as my second.”

On his right, Virgil saw Penelope shift slightly, as if bearing up under such a heavy scenario. Brains sat ramrod straight, his statue-like bearing the only signal that he, too, had steeled himself against the shattering of his own heart. Virgil ached for them both, knowing that they felt the same for him and his brothers.

“Thank you, John,” said Simon, taking notes using the virtual keyboard built into the tabletop. “We’re almost finished here; this is more of a formality required by your father’s instructions. He wanted us to make absolutely certain of the chain of command, in the case that any outside parties were ever named to take the place of one of you boys.” 

“Right.” Virgil shifted, but left his hand in Ruth’s. “Is there anything pressing that I need to be a part of for TI at this time?”

“Not at the moment,” said Janessa. “I’ve forwarded the company calendar to your email, as well as the executive meeting timetable--which of course you are welcome to join, either in person or virtually as time permits.”

Scott had made a habit of flying to New York for at least one executive meeting a quarter, and always had the recorded proceedings available to him; more than once, Virgil had caught him sitting up and listening to the meetings after everyone else had dragged themselves to bed. At the time, he’d been selfishly glad that he could go back to sleep and leave Scott to wade through the minutiae of the corporate world. Now he wished he’d stayed--if not to absorb some of the details, then at least to keep Scott company. “Thank you.”

Everett nodded. “Please inform us of any changes to Scott’s condition. We’ll...move forward accordingly.”

Virgil swallowed against what Everett did not say:  _ Let us know if he comes out of it, or if you need to plan a funeral. _ “I’ll make sure to keep in touch.”

“Thank you.” Janessa gave Ruth a small smile. “You’re doing a hell of a job, Mrs. Tracy.”

Ruth dipped her chin in acknowledgement, then the screen went blank.

They all sat without moving for a few seconds, until Ruth shook herself out of a solemn reverie. “You kids have a lot to talk about,” she said, giving Virgil’s hand one last pat before getting to her feet. “I’m gonna go sit with Scotty.” As one, John and Virgil stood, and the three Tracys held each other for a long moment. She kissed each of her grandsons on the cheek, and then left the room, her mouth pressed in a trembling line.

Penelope cleared her throat. “She’s correct; we do have certain things to discuss,” she began, her voice firm but quiet. “John, dear--” she began, but the redhead was already moving to follow his grandmother out of the room.

“Virgil’s ears only, I understand.” He shot a glance at his newly minted Field Commander. “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope like hell that I’ll never be in that seat.”

Younger than John by two years but feeling older by ten, Virgil nodded. “Me too, Jaybird.” They shared a tight smile, and John slipped outside.

When the door had whispered shut, Virgil planted his rear end in the leather chair. “Okay,” he said, as Penelope reached for her comm. “What have we got here?”

“This is also going to be a short meeting,” she informed him, several holographic windows springing to life from the hinged bit of plastic that only looked like an elegant ladies’ accessory. “You and you alone have the capability to destroy the Thunderbirds.”

The air left Virgil’s lungs as if he’d been punched in the gut. “That’s a hell of an opener, Pen.”

Neither the statement nor his reaction had fazed her, and she sat regarding him with eyes that had gone glacial. “Nevertheless, it’s true.” She tapped a code into one blazing red window, and then scanned through the six ID photos of the Thunderbird pilots until she came to Virgil’s. Once more, she tapped out a code that quickly encrypted itself into plain dots, and Virgil’s window turned green. At the same instant, Virgil’s wrist comm chimed, and he tapped it to bring up a screen edged with red and yellow. In the center of the window were five bold red characters with five blank slots beneath them. He glanced up at her through the holographic display, knowing his face was painted as eerily with the light as hers was.

“There is a preliminary option,” she explained. “Each Thunderbird has a disable, or ‘kill’ code, which will render them into an inert hunk of metal. Entering this code either from your comm or from the Mateo Island central core will enforce this command. If a Thunderbird is in flight, it will autopilot to the nearest safe location and shut down. Thunderbird Five’s life support system will remain active for twelve hours, and once the elevator is locked to the island, it will not spool back to the station until the kill code is released.” 

Brains spoke up next. “The s-same code will lock down the villa. The pool, the Roundhouse, and the Cliff House will unlock to receive each of their ‘Birds via a proximity sensor without having to release the kill c-code.”

“However,” Penelope continued, “entering  _ this _ code--” the code changed to a string of letters, numbers, and symbols, and the five spots merged into a single window-- “will instantly destroy any compromised Thunderbird on command. It will also destroy the power core in the villa if necessary.” She flicked her fingers to send the string to Virgil’s comm. “You will not need to recall this password; it needs a code of its own to access, which automatically changes daily.”

“This is instantaneous,” Virgil confirmed, even though he’d heard Penny clearly. “No chance to set it down, no chance to escape. Just boom, gone.”

Her pretty face was without expression. “That is correct.” 

Virgil looked away. “Dad...he did this on purpose.” Not a question.

Penelope shared a glance with Brains, who nodded. “Jeff thought it best,” said the engineer quietly. “He never wanted any of the Thunderbirds--or any of  _ you _ \--to be used as pawns...or as weapons.”

“This…” Virgil blew out a breath and shut down the angry red window with a slap of his hand against his comm. He got to his feet and wandered the perimeter of the table. “I literally hold my brothers’ lives in my hands.”

There was really no need to answer, but Penelope did. “Yes.”

So much of who Scott was fell into place with her statement; the silver that had begun to thread his hair before thirty, the lines beginning at the corners of his eyes, the bottle of whiskey in the bottom drawer of their father’s desk. He could almost hear Scott’s voice over the clink of ice and the splatter of liquor into a tumbler:  _ At least I didn’t have to murder anyone today. _

“Virgil,” Penelope started, her voice gentler than it had been a moment ago, “really, this is nothing new. You all put your lives in each other’s hands every day.” She too shut down the windows, and her compact became like her, deadly secrets hidden by an innocent façade. “Your father knew what the Hood was capable of, and if not him, then someone else.”

“The Mechanic,” Brains put in. “Scott c-came very close to using the kill code at the ranch.”

“Has he ever come close to using the other one?” Virgil didn’t know why he’d asked that, but he had and it thudded into the room.

“Twice,” Penelope said softly. “When EOS arrived, and then when the Mechanic captured Thunderbird Four.”

“If ‘Four hadn’t been p-pulled apart--” said Brains, but Virgil cut him off with a snarl.

_ "I get it,” _ he spat, a hot bolt of regret stabbing his chest at the engineer’s flinch. “Sorry, this is-- _ ” _ He ran his hands through his hair, tugging hard at the gelled strands before dropping his hands and letting his palms slap against his thighs. “Okay. Sorry.” He resumed his seat. “Continue.”

“You don’t have to do this,” Penny reminded him. “John--”

“No.” The syllable was flat. “Scott gave this to  _ me, _ and it’s mine until I can’t--” He sighed. “Well, until I  _ can’t.” _

Penelope leaned over to touch his arm, once again the woman who loved his brother, and not just a woman privy to the darkest secrets of International Rescue. “I know this is a lot to ask of anyone, but please keep in mind that this is all just precaution.”

“Failsafes for the failsafes,” Brains ventured. “I b-bet you thought that was me.” He shook his head. “It was all Jeff.”

“Sounds like Dad.” Virgil sighed. “You’re right; I’m overreacting. Again, my apologies.”

“Your eldest brother and commander is seriously injured,” Penny retorted. “You have been handed a heavy burden of responsibility beyond the load that you normally handle every day. If this _ didn’t _ give you pause, I’d be concerned.” She gathered up her compact and stood, Virgil and Brains following suit. “Now, I think it’s about time for a cup of tea and a bit of fresh air. Would either of you gentlemen care to join me?”

“M-make mine espresso and you’re on,” said Brains, following her out. “Virgil, what about you?”

“I’ve had my coffee this morning, thanks,” Virgil replied, holding the door for both of them. “Any more and I’ll be able to vibrate through walls.” He cracked a smile, feeling as if it were his first in days. “I’ve got a stop to make; I’ll catch up with you later.”

Instead of making good his exit, Virgil found John waiting for him outside the conference room. “Hey,” the redhead began, one long, slender hand shooting out to tap Virgil’s shoulder. “I need to talk to you for a minute.”

“Seems to be the name of the game today,” Virgil quipped. “Wanna step into my office?” He pulled open the door to the conference room, but John made no move to sit.

“This won’t take long,” he said, leaning against the wall. “While you were in there, I was thinking: What would you say to a division of duties?”

Virgil mirrored his older brother, folding his arms across his chest. “How so?”

“You’ve got enough to worry about with International Rescue,” John began. “What would you say to my taking over the TI side of the house?”

Virgil considered this for a long moment. John had always been the bookish one of the family, happy to accompany Jeff to Tracy Industries HQ when Scott had sometimes dragged his feet. Where Virgil felt much more comfortable in jeans and flannel, John could stop traffic in worsted wool, with his copper hair gelled to a fare-thee-well and his shoes shined to a mirror polish. With his specialized sleep schedule, John could feasibly conduct a lot of TI business from Thunderbird Five while still being iR’s eye in the sky.

“You’d do that?” he said aloud. “You’re pretty busy; I don’t want to put too much on your plate.”

John shrugged. “I’m okay. Janessa and her team take care of a lot of it, so my involvement would be minimal. It’d be one less thing for you to deal with.” One corner of his mouth curled in a smile. “Besides, I can listen to the meetings anytime.”

“Okay,” Virgil agreed, presenting his hand for a formal shake to seal the deal. “If you feel like it’s too much, let me know.”

“I will.” John smiled. “I’m gonna go see what the Terrible Twins are up to; I’ll contact the TI exec board later.” He squeezed Virgil’s shoulder, and was gone.

After stopping by Scott’s room to check on both his brother and his grandmother--the former still locked in his medicated sleep and the latter dozing in her chair--Virgil took the elevator to the ground floor. When the doors opened, he started a little at the bustle of patients and staff going about their morning business. A large group of people sat in the lobby awaiting the beginning of visiting hours, many holding flowers, balloons, or hand-lettered ‘Get Well Soon’ signs. Virgil made a mental note to call a florist and have some cheerful blooms delivered--if not exactly for Scott’s benefit, then for that of his visitors, who were definitely in need of some moral support. 

With a quick consultation of the holographic directory, Virgil moved away from the milling crowds down a carpeted hallway, the noise and chatter quieting as he left the lobby behind. The lighting changed as he passed, growing dimmer and softer, more pleasing to the eye and soothing to the spirit, and then he was standing before a pair of oaken doors carved with the outline of a dove clutching an olive branch in its beak. The door swung inward at his touch, and with a sigh, he stepped into the hospital’s interfaith chapel.

As the door shut, all the noise from the outside was instantly silenced. The faint odor of beeswax caught his nose, and a glance told him it came from a fat candle in a glass jar sitting on a white-draped table near the front of the room. All around him, the windows lit the room in an intricate mosaic of light made up of glass in pieces from as big as his palm to the width of his little finger. The windows began at the back of the room, then swept forward in a vibrant ribbon to meet at the front of the room just above his head, where they came together in a serene sunburst of bright yellow glass. He marveled at the artist and the architect, who had created a room that was hopeful, yet serene at the same time. This room would comfort those who prayed for the dying as well as those giving thanks for new life.

Virgil traveled a few steps down the brief aisle, which was marked out in a subtle herringbone of chocolate and cream marble, and lowered himself onto one of the padded benches a few rows from the blazing sunburst. He dug his mother’s rosary out of his pocket and held it in his hand, fingertips caressing the smooth beads and the sharp edges of the Crucifix. There were no statues in the chapel, nothing to mark its belonging to one faith or another, but the walls radiated a holy stillness all the same. He closed his eyes and sat quietly breathing in the sweet fragrance of long-ago summers, awash in tranquility.

_ Wake up, Scotty, _ he said silently, letting memories of his big brother flit through his mind like a home movie.  _ Come back to us. Don’t let this get you. _


	8. Answered Prayers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From life to death...and back again.

He couldn’t breathe.

He couldn’t see.

_ Oh, God, help me-- _

He was being crushed under the weight of the world. He could feel his life slipping away, like beach sand between his fingers.

Sand. Trees. Ocean. Home.

_ I just want to go home.  _ He lay his head down.  _ Let me go. _

“Scott?”

He couldn’t draw breath to speak; it came out as the barest whisper. “Dad?”

His father, standing on the beach, trousers rolled above his ankles, linen shirt stirring on the breeze, eyes luminous and kind. “Come on.” He held out his hand. “Let’s get out of here.”

Suddenly he could breathe again. He felt weightless, like he could fly into his father’s arms. “Dad!”

Strong arms caught him, holding him close. “Love you, Scotty.”

Pain crashed back into him, and he blinked up at a face pale with worry behind scratched plexiglass. “Virgil?”

The worry in that face lifted just a fraction. “It’s okay, Scott. I’ve got you. I’m gonna get you out of here. Stay with me, okay?”

God, his head hurt.  _ Everything _ hurt. Maybe if he went to sleep, he’d feel better after--

“Scott! Don’t go to sleep!” Someone raised the visor on his helmet, and he drew breath only to choke on smoke and dirt. Coughing, no, no he _ had to stop coughing. _ Black spots crawled at the edge of his vision and  _ oh God  _ he sure as hell couldn’t throw up,  _ no. _

“Come on, Scotty, stay with me.” Virgil’s hands on either side of his face, making him look up into amber eyes, his father’s eyes.

_ Dad. I wanna go home, Dad. _

“I know,” Virgil said softly, and Scott realized he’d spoken the words aloud. “I need you, big bro. Stay with me.” He turned to yell over his shoulder. “Gordon!”

Then Gordon was there, and he let himself drift for a while. They’d manage it; he’d trained them well. The pain in his head was getting worse. And he was gonna--

“Aw, hell! Virg, he’s bleeding internally.”

“Fuck, I was afraid of that.” Virgil’s face popped into his field of vision, colors muted, voice underwater. “Come on, Scotty. Don’t give up on us now. We’re gonna get you outta here.”

Anywhere was better than here, he mused. Although he was either dying or his brain was pumping out a truckload of endorphins, because the pain wasn’t biting quite as deep as it had a few minutes ago. “F A B,” he managed. 

Dizzying motion. A flash of what looked like a war zone, all pillars of smoke and broken concrete. Then the familiar smell of jet fuel and grease and hot metal, and the faintly medicinal taste of pure oxygen. Something soft and yielding at his back,  _ oh, yes. _ He was safe. His brothers were here. He could sink down into that softness and just not worry about anything anymore. 

“Virgil, I’m losing him!”

_ Don’t worry, Gordy. I’m just going home. _

_ “Scott!”  _

The burden of his flesh fell away.

He crashed back into himself, and it felt like hitting a brick wall at speed.  _ Fuuuuuck, _ he wanted to groan. _ That hurt _ . 

“Oh my God, Virg, I think--Hey, Scotty, you back with us?”

Bright blue and yellow, splattered with red, so bright it hurt his eyes. “G...Gordy?”

The aquanaut dashed the back of his hand against his eyes. “Scared the hell outta me, big bro,” Gordon said, his voice almost steady. “Don’t do that again, okay?”

Scott sighed. “I’ll try.” Although he wasn’t entirely sure he could keep that promise; exhaustion and pain pressed him from all sides; the soft white painless world was waiting, calling. His father was calling.

_ Scotty...Scotty, I’m here...come home, son… _

_ Wham! _ They hit something hard, and he jolted back into existence. Motion that felt Thunderbird-fast. A Morse code of light above him,  _ flash-flash-flash. _ Voices. 

“Have we got a name for our friend here?”

_ Tracy. Scott Carpenter Tracy. Commander, USAF. 883-25-4911. _

Wait, that wasn’t right. Or it was, but it wasn’t. What?

_ God, _ if the pain in his head would just  _ shut the hell up _ for a minute--! 

He yelled the first name that came to mind. “Virg...Virgil!”

“I’m here, Scotty. I’m here.” A firm squeeze on his fingers, but he couldn’t squeeze back. “Everything’s okay. You’re safe.”

Virgil. Dad? No. Virgil. “Th...th’ell happened?”

“Quake. Christchurch. You’re in the hospital. You’re safe. Everyone else is okay.”

Yes, that made sense. He’d been pushing people out of the bank, shoving them through the broken doorway, and then the earth had moved and rumbled and flattened him, slamming his head a terrible blow, and he didn’t remember after that. “Got them...in time?”

His brother’s smile was like a ray of sunshine. “It was close, but we made it.” Hot breath tickled his cheek, his ear. “You let them take care of you, okay boss? I’ll be right here.”

Yes, Virgil would take care of it. “You’re th’boss now.”

His duty done, he rose from the table and stepped onto soft, warm sand. His uniform fell away, leaving him in cool linen like his father. Strong arms were around him again, holding him like they’d never let go.

When he woke up, he was exhausted.

No, not exhausted.  _ Paralyzed. _ He couldn’t move.

Panic bloomed in his chest.  _ Oh, no. No, no, no. Open your eyes. _

_ I’m trying!  _ Ugh,  _ come on! _

Light. Finally. Yes. Light. Voices. A long low drone, rising and falling. Television? No, the tones were familiar. He’d listened to that voice go on and on before, had even told it to shut up. _ Sorry, _ he apologized to the voice,  _ you talk as much as you want, just let me listen.  _ The longer he listened, even the words became familiar.

“...and in the book. Science is an ongoing process. It never ends. There is no single ultimate truth to be achieved, after which all the scientists can retire. And because this is so, the world is far more interesting, both for the scientists and for the millions of people in every nation who, while not professional scientists, are deeply interested in the methods and findings of science. So--”

“John.”

The voice paused. A shape shifted in the foreground: Jean-clad legs uncrossing, a thick, worn book closed over a long slender finger. A freckled arm, disappearing into a deep green thermal shirt. Angular face, high cheekbones, freckles everywhere, God, how had he forgotten about the freckles? Like Mom’s had been, with her eyes looking out from the midst of those tiny red-gold spots, blue-green like the ocean surrounding the island. The other hand came up, raking copper strands back only to have them fall forward again. “Scott?”

He’d made it. No more dangling over the cliff, wanting to drop and yet wanting to hold on. He’d have been safe either way, but with every passing moment as he studied his brother’s face, he was sure he’d made the right choice.

He felt his face move: A smile, he was pretty sure. “Hi.”

The sea glass eyes crested like waves, spilling over onto the freckled cheeks. “Hi. Welcome back.” 

**_-forty-eight hours earlier-_ **

The comm was ringing, and Virgil flung out a hand, groping for the unit he’d set onto the nightstand. Beside him, Kayo stirred and then sat up; she grabbed up the comm and flicked it into life. “Thunderbird Two here,” she said, as Virgil pulled himself up on his elbows. “Go ahead.”

Ruth smiled up at them. “Good morning, you two. Wanna hear some great news?”

Virgil and Kayo shared a glance, then turned back to Ruth. “We could use some of that,” Virgil replied. “What’s up?”

His grandmother beamed. “Dr. Morton was just here, and he asked me to tell you that they’re going to withdraw the sedation today. Scott’s gonna be able to wake up soon!”

Kayo wrapped herself around Virgil, burying her head into his shoulder, and he held her for a moment to absorb this happy news. “That’s wonderful,” he said when he could be sure it wouldn’t come out as a sob. “We’ll be over in a bit.”

Ruth waved them off. “Take your time. Dr. Morton says this is going to be something of a process. We’ll call you if anything changes.”

“Okay. Thanks, Grandma.” Her holographic form winked out, and now he grabbed Kayo and held on tight. She grabbed him just as fiercely, and they just sat in each other’s arms for a long, long time.

“He’s gonna make it,” she said softly. “We’re gonna get him back.”

“God, I hope so.” He let go, pressing his forehead to hers. “Is it too much to hope that he’s the same person I sent into surgery a week and a half ago?”

“Hmm, I don’t think that’s possible for anyone,” she mused, then held a finger to his lips when he would have protested. “What I mean is that no one could go through something like this and come out the same. Not you, not me, not anyone.” She sighed, and he made himself relax; of course she was right, and he knew it. “How about we shoot for hoping that he’s got the basics down: Talking to us, remembering who we are, and then everything else a little at a time.”

“There’s something I’m really worried about though,” he said, unable to help the horror lapping at the edge of his words. “Kay, what if he can’t fly anymore? What if the GDF pulls his ticket? He’ll go crazy.”

She looked down at her hands in her lap. “I don’t know,” she said.

Virgil knew that she was thinking about herself. Having a pilot’s license was just a foregone conclusion in their family. Jeff himself had taught her to fly, and though Virgil had been just sixteen, he could remember the wild joy on her face when she’d climbed down from her first lesson. To take that part of her away would be like snuffing a candle with a sledgehammer.

In truth, it would be difficult to keep  _ any _ of them on the ground, he thought. Thinking about never being able to be behind the controls of Thunderbird Two again made a cold wave of terror roll over him. Scott, who had flying in his bones, who had thought of nothing except airplanes since the moment their father had pointed at one and told him what the shiny machine was--well. 

_ First things first, _ he told himself.  _ Let him wake up and tell us what he needs, and it’ll be what it’ll be. _


	9. Uphill Climb

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott's awake! However, there are still plenty of challenges...and his family is there to help him get through them all.

“Don’t overwhelm him,” said Dr. Morton, when the whole Tracy clan and their two friends-like-family were gathered around him in a barely contained knot of simmering excitement. “Don’t give him too much to process all at once. He’s likely to be confused, emotional, forgetful. Don’t take it personally.” He waited until everyone had given a nod of understanding before continuing. “Most of all, what he needs is  _ time.  _ He’s come far, but he still may have challenges that we don’t yet know about. He may be frustrated, and may actually grieve any lost abilities or memories.” He smiled warmly. “However, from what I’ve seen of you all, I have no doubt that Scott will be loved and supported every step of the way.”

Virgil called a second conference after the doctor had left, continuing on the theme of how to interact with Scott for the foreseeable future. 

He really had to hand it to John; his bookish brother was slipping into his role as Interim President of Tracy Industries as if it were made for him. One of John’s first orders of business was to write up a proposal to the board regarding the accommodations they had found themselves in for the last two weeks. The result was that they were now standing in the newly christened Scott C. Tracy Neurological Recovery Unit, furnished in signature Tracy jet-age style. The artwork was cheerful, the seating was comfortable, and plans were in motion to add amenities such as a small kitchen and bath for families needing to stay close to loved ones.

So it was that Virgil felt a little more at home as he stood to address his eager audience. Some, like his grandmother, had unshed tears of joy in their eyes, and others, like Gordon, looked nervous but determined, but all were hanging on his every word as he took them through their ‘new normal’.

“Like Dr. Morton said, while Scott’s still in the hospital, we need to take turns with him like we have been--one at a time. I know we all want to rush in and tell him how happy we are to have him back, but that might frighten him.” He swallowed, forcing back the sourness that flooded his mouth when he thought of Scott cowering in terror from those he loved. “So. Let’s keep it quiet and calm in his room for now. If he wants to talk about what happened, that’s fine, but don’t quiz him on what he remembers and what he doesn’t. He might not remember getting hurt at all.” 

In truth, Virgil mused, who knew at this moment how much Scott would remember about  _ anything?  _ He himself had survived enough head injuries to know that memory could be patchy after such an event. It remained to be seen how large the gaps in Scott’s recall would be.

“The most important thing,” Virgil continued, hearing his voice slide into his father’s no-nonsense ‘Papa Bear’ register, “is that any official business will continue to come to John and I--John for Tracy Industries items, and iR stuff for me.  _ Under no circumstance _ will anyone--and I mean  _ anyone- _ -be allowed to bother Scott about any of that until John and I say so.”

“We especially need to keep the press away from him,” John chimed in. “Kat Kavanaugh called me today, but I didn’t answer. If she starts calling anyone else, let either of us know. We can get Legal involved if she starts bugging us.”

“I know everyone knows all of this,” Virgil went on, “but it doesn’t hurt to revisit it, not when Scott’s health is at stake.” He gave them all a brave smile, his tone lightening a fraction. “We’re gonna face whatever happens together. I couldn’t do this without you guys at my back, so...thank you.”

Immediately, he was at the center of a loving knot of support, arms and hands holding on to him, warm lips pressed to his cheeks and forehead. 

Soon, it was his turn to visit with Scott, and he cleared his throat as he entered his big brother’s room so Scott wouldn’t startle. “Hi,” he greeted the burr-headed patient, who was laying slightly elevated so he could see the television. “Whatcha watching?”

Scott blinked, as if suddenly remembering that he was indeed watching the screen. “Oh,” Scott said, rolling his head on the pillow toward Virgil. “Nothing.”

Virgil nodded. “Daytime TV  _ is _ pretty boring,” he said. “Want me to find you something else?”

Scott shook his head. 

Virgil pointed the remote at the TV and turned it off. “How about a little chill-out music?”

The blue eyes blinked. “Okay.”

Virgil pressed another button, and soft instrumental music began to spill into the room. “How you feeling today?”

Scott’s eyes wandered away from Virgil, and he tipped his chin down to survey his prone form, from the airplane-print hospital gown on his chest, down to where the twin bumps of his feet rested under his own carefully laundered blanket from his bed at home. “‘M alright,” he replied. “I miss…” His dark brows drew together. “Work.”

“It’ll keep, don’t worry.” Virgil smiled at him. “Anything else you miss?”

To Virgil’s happiness, Scott cracked a tiny smile. “Coffee.”

“Tell you what, when we spring you out outta this joint, that’s our first stop.” Virgil made a face. “Not hospital coffee, blech.”

Scott echoed his younger brother’s distaste by wrinkling his nose, then gained a thoughtful look. “Virg, where’s Dad?”

Of all questions, this one had been the one Virgil was dreading the most. He’d meant to sit and dope out a good answer, maybe even organize his thoughts on paper, but it hadn’t happened and now the moment was here. He sighed, leaning forward to take Scott’s hand in his. “Scotty...do you remember TV21? It’s okay if you don’t.”

A nod. “Dad’s plane.” The sapphire eyes closed and Scott cocked his head, as if listening for a faraway sound. “The Hood.” He opened his eyes, his face going so still that for a moment, Virgil feared Scott had had a stroke. “Dad’s dead.”

“No, we don’t know that,” Virgil reassured him. “He’s been gone a while, but--” He squeezed the cool hand, heart sinking as huge tears began to track their way down Scott’s pale cheeks. “We haven’t found him--dead  _ or _ alive. John wrote a program that keeps scanning for him 24-7 from Thunderbird Five. Kyrano is--well I don’t know  _ exactly _ where Kyrano is, but he’s our ‘boots on the ground,’ following up some leads.” He squeezed the slack fingers again, willing Scott to believe. “When Dad disappeared, you told us that we couldn’t give up. We haven’t, and we won’t.”

“Saw him--somewhere,” Scott murmured as Virgil let go briefly to grab a box of tissues, not even flinching as Virgil dabbed away the tears. “Just a little while ago.”

“Maybe you were dreaming.” Virgil got up to toss the tissues into the rubbish bin and resumed his seat beside the bed. “The doctor said some confusion was normal.”

Scott nodded mutely, the naked loss and grief on his face an all-too familiar reminder of the day they’d lost their father. 

Virgil attempted to continue their conversation several times, but for some reason, anything he thought of to say seemed trivial and hollow. He turned the television on again, albeit muted, and flipped channels for a while before turning back to get Scott’s reaction. To his relief, Scott’s eyes were closed and his chest was rising in falling in the rhythm of deep sleep, and Virgil gave a resigned sigh as he tossed the remote onto the table beside the bed. He ran a hand down his face with a low groan, then let his hand fall to his lap as he considered the well-loved face before him.

“That went  _ just great _ ,” he quipped darkly.  _ Never mind, _ he thought, the question had to come sometime, and from what the doctor had said, it might come again. With a firm nod to himself, he rose and grabbed a piece of blank paper from a drawer, then retrieved a pencil he’d been using to sketch with on an earlier visit and wrote out the list he’d been planning on before Scott beat him to it. Hopefully, he mused, as the words began to flow, they’d be prepared if Scott needed to be reassured of his father’s status again.

He was wakened by a touch on his shoulder, and startled enough to drop the pencil. It clattered to the floor as he looked up to see John standing over him, and he gave the redhead a sleepy smile, stretching and yawning as John stooped to retrieve the pencil.

“How is he?” John asked, with a lift of his chin toward the still-sleeping Scott. 

“Confused,” Virgil replied. “He asked where Dad was.”

John crossed his arms and looked away. “Well, we knew that was coming.”

“Yeah. He caught me off guard, so I wrote down some stuff we can tell him, if he asks again.” Virgil nodded to the paper laying on the bedside table out of Scott’s line of sight. “How’s everyone else?”

John stifled a yawn against the back of his hand, then shoved both hands into the pockets of his jeans. “They’re doing okay. Al and Gordon put in an order for pizza, so they’re hanging around in the lobby downstairs waiting for the delivery. Grandma’s at the hotel resting for a while. Penelope called to say she’d gotten home okay, but she said to call her anytime.”

“Where’s Kayo?”

“She took Brains home in ‘Two, said she needed some ‘island time.’” He let one corner of his mouth curl up in a rueful smile. “I think she just needed to get off the ground for a while.” His face fell, and he re-crossed his arms, hugging them to his narrow torso. “Speaking of,  _ I _ need to get off the ground, too. You know me and gravity, we don’t exactly see eye to eye anymore.” He blushed. “Plus, I’d...like to see Ridley.”

Virgil nodded. “I know, I don’t think you’ve been dirtside for this long in a while.” With a last look at Scott’s sleeping form, he got up from the recliner. “How about 0800 tomorrow, I’ll have Kayo come get you and you can get back up top.”

Relief lit John’s face. “Thanks, V. I’ll sit with him tonight. I need to set up the projector anyway.”

The need to be able to see Scott from literally anywhere in the world had been of paramount importance, and one that John and Brains had been more than happy to tackle with their usual flair. Tonight, Virgil knew that John would be quietly tinkering away at the video setup to ensure that at the press of a button, they would be able to look in on their convalescing leader. “I’m gonna head over to the hotel and see if I can get some sleep,” Virgil informed the slender redhead. “I’m just a comm away, though.”

John made shooing motions toward the door. “Go. Sleep. We’ll be fine.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Have  _ you _ slept? When did you eat last?”

“Does the smother-hen stuff just sort of get downloaded into your brain along with the title of ‘Field Commander’?” John rolled his eyes. “Yes, although you know how wonky my sleep cycles are. And a while ago, but don’t ask me what it was; it was that memorable.”

“Eat something. Soon.” Virgil stifled another yawn, then moved to brush his lips against Scott’s forehead. “Let me know when you get back to the office,” he told John, squeezing his shoulder through the MIT sweatshirt.

“F A B.” John shot him a quick smile, then turned back to the schematics on his tablet.

A noise from the bed brought John out of the sea of code he’d been submerged in for the last hour, and he surfaced from the depths to see Scott staring at him, eyes frozen wide in terror. John quickly shunted his laptop and tablet to the table beside him, and bent over his older brother. “It’s okay,” he soothed. “You’re okay, Scott. You’re in the hospital.”

The terror-stricken look didn’t fade at the kind words, and John glanced up to the monitor to see Scott’s heart rate and blood pressure begin to ratchet upwards. Scott’s hands, which had been buckled into the padded straps on the bed frame for his own safety, began to twist and pull feebly at the bonds. “T...tracy. C’mand’r...4911.” 

John leaned forward and gently touched Scott’s hand. “You’re not a _ prisoner, _ Scotty. You’re a  _ patient.  _ You were hurt very badly, but you’re getting better.”

Scott’s eyes continued to search John’s face, only seeming to see an enemy instead of a beloved family member. “Tracy. 883...219...4 Alpha…” He trailed off, lips still mouthing unheard syllables. John frowned and made an executive decision: He unbuckled the restraint from around Scott’s wrist and held the quivering hand in both of his.

“Scott, do you remember the first time we went to the Smithsonian?” He smiled, casting back over the years for the fond memory. “I think you were about ten, which made me eight. Alan was just a baby. Do you remember how Gordon set off the fire alarm?” The space monitor chuckled. “I cried, I was so upset--not at the noise or the confusion, but at the thought of never being allowed inside again.” He squeezed Scott’s hand. “You told me not to worry. You explained how Gordy was just little and hadn’t known what would happen. You took me to the gift shop and spent all your vacation money on a book about comets for me. I still have that book; it’s up on ‘Five. I read it every now and again just to remind me of what a great big brother I have.”

Scott had stopped mumbling to himself and was staring fixedly at his redheaded brother. “Johnny?”

The man in question broke into a wide smile. “Right. You back with me, Scooter?”

The nickname made Scott blink. “Yeah. Sorry. Feels like ‘m dreaming all th’ time.”

It was the longest sentence he’d put together since opening his eyes, and John nodded, impressed. “I hear that’s normal. It’ll pass, with time.”

Scott closed his eyes wearily. “How long--?”

“You were sedated for ten days,” John informed him. “Forty-eight hours ago, you had improved enough to be extubated and have the paralytic withdrawn. You’ve still got quite a cocktail of drugs in your veins; I’m not surprised that you feel like you’re in an Escher drawing.”

Scott opened his eyes again, staring at nothing. “Thought Dad was...here.”

John’s smile turned sad at the corners. “I’m afraid not. Everyone else has been here though. They’ve all been taking turns sitting with you while you were sleeping. Even Penny was here; she said she regaled you with the latest fashion news from Milan, and Parker read to you from his favorite Louis L’amour novel.”

“Mm.” The hand in John’s was going slack, and the lids over the sapphire eyes were drooping. He uttered a handful of unintelligible words, then fell once more into a deep, drugged sleep. John watched him for a few moments, making sure that Scott’s chest fell in a smooth, regular rhythm, then gently buckled the slack wrist back into the padded restraint. If Scott woke up frightened, having him restrained would keep him safer, though it pulled painfully at John’s heart to do so.

Finally, all the preparations for the camera interface were complete, and John switched it on. “EOS,” he called.

“Yes, John.” The AI’s voice floated down from the overhead speaker, and John smirked; leave it to his cheeky partner to hack the hospital tannoy instead of being restricted to the tiny speaker in his wrist comm.

“Camera check, please.”

“Thunderbird Five is receiving clear images of Scott’s hospital room. Connections are secure. There is no threat to privacy.”

“Thank you. Thunderbird Two, this is Thunderbird Five.”

“Two here,” Kayo lilted, her accent clear and warm. “Are you back home, John?”

“Not quite yet. I’m in Scott’s room; EOS and I are testing his camera setup. How do we look?” He waved a hand at the lens.

“Coming through clear. Has he been awake at all?”

“A little. He’s still pretty confused.” John shifted in his chair to lean forward, elbows on knees. “He thought he was a POW for a minute.”

“God, how awful.”

“Yeah, it was a little creepy.”

“Where’s Virgil?”

John smiled. “I sent him over to the hotel to get some rack time. I’m gonna go back up tomorrow morning; any chance I can catch a ride?”

Her own smile was clear. “You know me, John. Any excuse to get off the ground.” Her tone gained a bit of mischief. “I could bring Shadow and take you for a  _ real  _ ride before you go home.”

He rolled his eyes. “‘Two will be fine.”

“Live a little, spaceman.”

“I’d like my breakfast to stay in situ, thank you very much.” 

“Ugh, you’re as bad as Brains. He nearly honked on the way home. I told him turbulence is just nature’s thrill ride.”

John snickered. “I can guess how that went.”

“He didn’t seem to appreciate it, no.” She chuckled. “What time shall I pick you up?”

“0800, please.”

“F A B. See you then. Thunderbird Two out.”

When Kayo appeared at the doorway to Scott’s room, John was talking quietly with his older brother, their hands intertwined. Kayo hung back a moment, just watching them; John’s words were too low for her to hear, but the tone of his voice was warm and gentle, and Scott’s eyes stayed on his younger brother, blinking calmly in the early morning light filtering through the window. Kayo wasn’t entirely sure if Scott was catching everything John was saying, but at least his eyes were open and he looked more... _ present _ than he had the last time she’d been here. She also noticed that Scott’s hands were no longer restrained, so either John had freed him once Scott was awake, or the doctor had given the nod to do away with them. Either way: Progress.

John held one of Scott’s newly liberated hands in both of his and rested his cheek against the scarred knuckles. Kayo’s heart warmed as Scott managed a smile at the fond gesture, and let her steps make noise as she entered the room. “‘Morning, you two,” she said. “Jay, you all ready to go?”

“Sure am.” He gave Scott’s hand a final squeeze, then laid it back on the bed. “I’ll check in with you as soon as I’m up top, okay?”

Scott dipped his chin. “Okay.” He kept his smile. “Love you.”

“Love you too, Scotty.” John picked up his duffel bag and shouldered it, then turned to Kayo. “Ready.”

Kayo hung back a moment to kiss Scott’s forehead, then turned to leave. They were met at the door by a solemn-faced Gordon, who was carrying a shiny silver gift bag, and the trio spent a few awkward moments trying to get out of each other’s way. “You dance divinely, Gordon,” Kayo quipped, but her smile faded when their resident joker didn’t rise to her attempt at levity.

“Sorry,” he muttered, threading his way between them. “See ya, Johnny.”

John raised an eyebrow. “See ya, Gordy.” He shot a glance at Kayo, but she could only shrug. She kept her eyes on the aquanaut for a moment as he took his place beside Scott, then followed John out the door.

Scott’s eyes tracked upward to watch Gordon as he settled into the chair John had just vacated. “Fishie,” he said, raising a loose fist a few inches off the blanket.

“That’s me,” Gordon replied, giving Scott a gentle fistbump. “Howzit goin’, Scooter?”

Scott let his hand fall back to the blanket and gave him a slow blink. “So tired.”

“I remember what that was like.” Gordon cracked a one-sided grin. “Sleep while you can, buddy. You’ll be back in the saddle before you know it.”

“Hope so.” Scott’s eyes drifted shut, but Gordon touched his cheek, and he dragged them open again. “Huh?”

“Before you go back to sleep, I have something for you.” Gordon brought the gift bag up to rest on the side of the bed, and Scott raised his hand to brush the shiny red curls of ribbon with a fingertip. “Just a little something to inspire you as you get back on your feet. Here, I’ll help you.” 

Scott watched through his eyelashes as Gordon plunged a hand into the artfully fluffed clouds of white tissue and brought out a flat box covered with black velvet. When the bag had been set aside, Gordon gently laid the box on Scott’s stomach and worked the controls to raise the head of the bed just a fraction. “Any guesses?” Gordon asked, but Scott shook his head, brows together. 

Gordon reached over and lifted the hinged lid to reveal a palm-sized disc of polished gold, surrounded by a deep blue ribbon set in precise folds. On the disc, five interlocking rings were cast in relief over a swimmer breaking the surface in a froth of golden water. He lifted it by the ribbon, letting it wink and flash for a moment, then gently flipped it over to brush a thumb over the letters engraved there: _ Gordon Cooper Tracy, USA. Men’s 100-Meter Freestyle 47.03. 1 August 2058. _

“Do you remember this, Scotty?” Gordon turned his gaze from the medal to his brother’s face, and found Scott staring intently at the beautiful object as if trying to recall where he’d seen it before. 

“Yours?”

Gordon bit his lip. “It’s yours now,” he said, his voice almost steady. He stood and gently lifted Scott’s head away from the pillow, then slipped the ribbon around Scott’s neck and laid the medal on his chest. “At least, until the day you can walk across the room and give it back to me.”

Scott’s eyes filled with tears, and he gave a grunt of frustration as he tried to raise his hands to touch the precious gift. Gordon gathered Scott’s hands in his and tucked the medal into the slack fingers, molding them around it until his brother was able to hold it in a loose grip. 

“There. Hang on to it for me, okay?” Gordon pressed a brief kiss to his brother’s forehead, and they sat with heads together, contemplating their golden bond.

When Alan came in an hour later, he found Scott asleep. Gordon, too, was asleep, his head pillowed on one arm on the side of the bed, the other hand still over Scott’s, the medal clutched in their intertwined fingers. 


	10. Slowly But Surely

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scott's recovery continues, with both breathtaking rewards and painful challenges in the offing.
> 
> PS: If you were looking for the non-explicit space sex, here it be ;)

“Ahhh,” Scott sighed, as the nurse withdrew the IV and taped a square of gauze on his hand. “No more pincushion.”

She grinned. “Oh, but this comes with a price, I’m afraid.” She gestured to the door where an orderly about Virgil’s size walked in with a wheelchair. He parked it next to Scott’s bed, then stepped aside as she helped Scott to peel back the bedclothes. “Nice socks, by the way.”

Scott wiggled his toes in the silver and blue socks (with red toes and heels) Gordon had gifted him to go over the ‘thrombo-embolic deterrent’ hose he’d worn while sedated. “Thanks. ‘Get well’ present from my brother.” Words were beginning to come easier now, but short phrases and one-word answers were still his preferred method of communication. “What’s my mission?”

As they’d done the previous day, the orderly guided him into a sitting position, and the nurse gently moved his legs until they were dangling from the side of the bed. Apparently today was graduation day, because the orderly eased him from the bed and into the wheelchair in one smooth, skillful motion. “Your mission,” said the orderly, “is to use the restroom.”

“Oh.” Scott felt his face grow hot. “Okay. I’ll sure try.”

The nurse helped him to put his brightly colored feet onto the footrests, then tucked a warm blanket over his knees. “You’ve been taking care of business just fine with the portable unit since the catheter came out,” she reminded him, only causing his blush to deepen at the memory. “You’ve done so well that now it’s time to take a field trip.”

“Oh,” he repeated. “Sure. Let’s go.” He was a little nervous, since going to the head meant standing up, and he hadn’t done that in what, three weeks? And had a healing abdominal injury besides? He really didn’t want to end up in a heap on the tile, but he supposed if they thought he could, he would be equal to the challenge. 

Seeming to sense his hesitation, the orderly squeezed his shoulder. “Don’t worry. I’ll be there to help.”

“Uh--” Well, he thought, he shouldn’t be so embarrassed; it wasn’t like he had anything anyone hadn’t seen, and other than the socks and the breezy hospital gown, he was practically naked anyway. Still, the thought of having to prove his kidneys were functioning properly with someone watching wasn’t a fun one.

However, he was pleasantly surprised to find that yes, all was in proper working order, even if the orderly had had to turn on the faucet in the restroom to encourage things to begin flowing. All in all, he was much cheered by the time he settled back into the wheelchair, and was even more encouraged to see Virgil waiting just outside his room.

“Hey stranger,” Scott called, holding out a hand that was slowly regaining its steadiness. “How’d it go?”

Virgil grabbed his hand and squeezed it, then leaned down to kneel at his eye level. “It went okay; the fire’s ninety-eight percent contained, and the local folks have it under control. Alan got a little singed, but he’s alright. He’s  _ alright,” _ Virgil repeated, as Scott felt tears well up.

Before his injury, Scott’s insides clenched when any of them got hurt, but he’d been able to work through it--especially if they were able to walk away under their own power. Now, just the thought of Alan in pain brought on a wave of panic. Dr. Morton had warned him that his emotions would be on the raw side for a while, so with effort, he forced himself to take a deep breath and believe Virgil. “Okay.” 

“Good.” Virgil glanced up at the nurse and the orderly. “We still on for Scott’s little field trip?”

The nurse nodded. “Absolutely. He did very well in the restroom.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow. “Did he, now?” He grinned, and Scott felt his cheeks warm again. “Well, that’s progress. Does he have a curfew?”

She checked her watch. “Hmm. How about two p.m.; he’ll be ready for a rest by then.”

Scott frowned. _ “Hello, _ m’down  _ here.” _ He had always detested having people talk about him while he was in the room as if he couldn’t hear them, and he’d been awake long enough to already have a bellyful of it. To his chagrin, the three grouped about him only laughed. “S’not funny,” he grumped.

The orderly took a step backward, and Virgil released the brakes of the wheelchair to take up his position behind Scott. “Okay, then: This Thunderbird is go.”

“Have a good time,” called the nurse as they wheeled away.

“Where to?” Scott asked, just a little uneasy; if he remembered correctly, he was the one who usually did the driving. 

“You’ll see,” Virgil said enigmatically. “Just sit back and relax.”

Since he had little choice but to comply, Scott did so, taking in the sights and smells of the hospital as they went. They passed a steaming trolley that smelled of broccoli, and he had to swallow against a sudden wave of nausea. Nurses in scrubs all colors of the rainbow flitted to and fro. A bright bouquet of balloons with legs walked toward them, proving to be a young boy with his father following close behind. Somewhere, someone coughed repeatedly. The ring of a telephone was abruptly cut off when someone answered. Overhead, the tannoy requested  _ Dr. Brackett, call 209. _

All in all, the whole experience was sensory overload for someone who’d spent over a week in suspended animation and two weeks in and out of reality, and Scott was relieved when they turned down a less populated hallway.

“Here,” said Virgil, halting their progress to come around and help Scott put on a pair of aviator shades he’d produced from a pocket. “This’ll help.” He tucked the blanket more securely around Scott’s legs, then resumed his position and wheeled Scott toward an automatic door. The glass retracted with a quiet hiss, and Scott took in his first lungful of fresh air since he’d touched down in Christchurch.

They strolled through a garden studded with abstract topiaries, rolling past rose bushes and lush green hedges. In the middle of the garden was a fountain made up of a massive rounded stone set in a wide pool, water welling from the top of the stone to cascade down its curving sides. The musical burbling of the water was lively, but soothing, and Scott felt his anxiety drain away. “Beautiful,” he sighed, settling back against the headrest. 

“It is,” Virgil agreed, setting the parking brakes and sinking down on a bench beside Scott’s wheelchair. “I thought you’d like it out here.”

Scott opened his eyes behind the mirrored lenses and tipped his face to the canopy of endless blue above their heads. “Nice to see the sky.” He smiled. “Can’t wait.”

Virgil shifted, frowning slightly. “Can’t wait for what?”

Scott dipped his head to give his younger brother a  _ look  _ over the sunglasses. “To be back in it.”

“Oh. Well, don’t count your Thunderbirds before they’re hatched, big bro.” Virgil cleared his throat and looked away. “It’ll be awhile before you’re tearing around with your hair on fire.” He turned back and gently patted the inch-high crop of stubble on Scott’s head. “Have to get some more hair for that.”

Scott wanted to flip him off, but his hands couldn’t figure out what to do. He settled for sticking his tongue out at Virgil instead. “Comedian.”

“Yup, that’s me, just a barrel of laughs.” 

Scott frowned at the flat, unamused tone coming from his usually amiable brother. “What’s wrong?”

“You’ve been through some tough stuff, Scooter,” Virgil hedged. “You’re gonna have to take it one step at a time.”

A small brown bird flitted to a stop on the top of the fountain, scooped up a few beakfuls of water, and then flashed away. Scott followed its progress with his eyes for a moment, feeling the familiar ache in his belly as electricity raced up his spine. 

A memory began in his hands and swept all through him: Gripping hard, a shove and a pull, bare fingertips flicking switches to give him  _ more more more,  _ g-forces pressing him into the padded seat at his back. The taste of oxygen, sunlight glinting from the plexiglass overhead, banking, turning, the stomach-drop ecstasy of a dive--and then the  _ slap slap slap _ of metal against metal, voices frantic in his ear, _ watch your six, I can’t shake ‘em, I’m hit, I’m hit, mayday, mayday-- _

“Scott!”

He looked up into Virgil’s face, trembling all over. His throat felt raw, and he realized he couldn’t feel the sunshine anymore. “V’rg?”  _ Mayday, mayday-- _

Warm hands on either side of his face brought him back from the crazed spiral into terror. “Look at me, Scott. You’re safe.” 

Other hands were pressing him gently into not a hard padded seat but a mountain of soft pillows, and he glanced over to see the nurse that had sent them on their outing. Her face was composed, but there was worry at the back of her blue eyes, and she took up his hand to press her fingers against it.

“Ow!” He squawked. “What--”

“Sorry sorry sorry,” she chanted, then retrieved a pair of blunt scissors from her pocket and snipped a length of clear tape to paste over the IV. “There. You should be feeling a bit more comfortable in just a minute.”

He tried again. “What…” Something huge and heavy pressed him into the pillows, and the world slid away into nothingness.

John crossed holographic arms over his ghostly form. “So what happened?”

Virgil glanced over at Scott to make sure he was still asleep. He was, thanks to the sedative dripping into his veins, and Virgil let out a slow breath.

“I dunno,” he admitted, dropping his head into his hand and raking his fingers through his hair. “One minute we were outside enjoying the sunshine, the next he’s screaming ‘Mayday, mayday.’ I had to bring him inside so they could sedate him.”

“Sounds like the time he was shot down,” John murmured, almost to himself. “Something must have triggered a memory.”

“I guess, though I’m at a loss as to what it could have been, or I wouldn’t have taken him out there.” Virgil stared at his space monitor for a long moment. “I dunno about this, Johnny.”

But John was already shaking his head. “Early days, Virg. Early days. It’s just the sedative working its way out of his system. Dr. Morton said that his brain scan was clean.” He watched Virgil for a few heartbeats. “It scared you, didn’t it.”

“You’re damn right it did,” Virgil snarled. “I know he can’t help it but-- _ wow.  _ He was  _ terrified. _ I didn’t know how to help him, it was like he couldn’t hear me.”

“Have to give it time, big V.” John raised an eyebrow. “I think  _ you’re _ more impatient for him to get well than he is, and that’s saying something.”

Virgil couldn’t help a rueful chuckle. “I’m all for helping out, but this being in charge gig? Just isn’t me.” He looked over at Scott again, thankful that the conversation was going unheard. “I don’t want this job to become permanent.”

He was glad that John knew what he meant without either one of them having to say it.  _ I want Scott back like he was.  _ “You’re preaching to the choir, brother mine.” The clear turquoise eyes were wells of calm amongst the barely-visible freckles. “Still. I’ll be here for the duration if you will. Okay?”

The love and support in John’s tone transmitted clearly over the hundreds of miles between them, and Virgil nodded. “Okay.”

There was a clatter and a thump in the background of John’s transmission, and a feminine voice broke in from off-screen. “Hey, anyone home?”

Virgil grinned. “Looks like you’ve got company.”

The elfin features of Captain Ridley O’Bannon popped into view of the camera as John moved halfway out of frame. “Hey, Virgil. How’s Scott?”

“Hi, Ridley. He’s doing better. We had a small setback today, but he’ll be alright.”

She gave him a smile as she removed her gloves and tugged off her arming cap. “I’m glad to hear it.” She ruffled her short hair into a charming halo of dark curls. “I’m due for some leave in a few days, do you think he would mind if I came by to say hello?”

Virgil glanced at John, who gave a nod. “I think he’d like that--just don’t take it personally if he doesn’t remember you at first.”

“I won’t. Let me know if Global One can be of assistance while you guys get up to speed. I talked with Colonel Casey this morning; she sends her best, and said the GDF is just a call away if you need them.”

International Rescue and the GDF hadn’t always seen eye to eye in the past--especially with his hot headed older brother considering them more of a hindrance than help--but he made a mental note to call Colonel Casey and check in with her. “Thanks, we appreciate it. I think now that your spaceman is home, we’re gonna start getting back in the swing of things.”

“Sounds good. I’ll let you two get back to your conversation, I just wanted to say hi.” Ridley glanced back at John, and Virgil might have imagined it, but it seemed like her voice gained just a bit of a knowing edge. “Shall I go fire up the squash court?”

“I’ll be right there.” John sent her on her way with a fond smile, then turned back to his younger brother, one ginger eyebrow raised. “‘ _ Your _ spaceman’?” he muttered.

Virgil snickered. “If the magnetic boot fits.”

“Subtle.”

“John, she’s beautiful, she’s single, and she adores you. She wants to get hot and sweaty with you in a small, enclosed space. If you don’t know what to do with that set of circumstances, then I give up.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised. Thunderbird Five out.”

A few hours later, Ridley lay with her back pressed against John’s bare chest, tucked against him in his bunk as they watched the stars float by. The ends of his copper flick, wilted from their exertion--both on and off the court--brushed her skin as he dipped his head to press his lips against her shoulder. “I missed you,” he murmured.

She twisted in his arms, curling her hand against the back of his neck to bring his mouth down to hers. “I missed you, too,” she replied, the words hot against his cheek. “You had enough going on, I didn’t want to distract you.”

He smiled down at her. “You would have been the best kind of distraction.” He sobered, tracing her lower lip with the tip of his index finger. “I’m glad you didn’t see Scott like that, though. It was...painful.”

“I can imagine. I was so glad when you told me he was awake.” She lay back to gaze up at him, the fingers of her right hand playing along the high ridge of his left cheekbone. “The thought of you and your brothers having to go on without him…” She shook her head, eyes filling with tears. “I don’t even want to think about it.”

John covered her hand with his own and brought it down to kiss her fingers. “We don’t think about it much either,” he admitted. “It’s just something we live with, and if it happens, we have directives in place to keep us moving forward. It’s why Virgil’s our acting Field Commander--a job he never sought, but one he’ll shoulder to the best of his ability.”

Ridley smiled up into the ocean-blue eyes above hers. “You’re proud of him, aren’t you.”

“Immensely.” 

“Make sure you tell him that.”

“I will.”

“I’m proud of  _ you, _ too.” She twisted to lay fully on her back, arms threading around his neck. “Mr. Interim President.”

John shrugged, a smile playing about his mouth. “Fancy name for listening to people talk about what they’re going to do with Dad’s money.”

“It’s a lot of money,” she corrected him. “ _ Someone _ has to talk about it.” She pecked a kiss on the end of his nose. “And someone has to listen. I’m glad it’s you.”

He slid his arms under her shoulders and cuddled her close. “I just hope I get handed my pink slip soon.”

“I know,” she murmured against his temple. “Me too.”

Two days later, Alan was humming lightly to himself as he wheeled Scott along the hallway, exchanging smiles with those they passed. “‘Morning,” he chirped to a young woman in the royal blue polo shirt and dark slacks of a volunteer. She blushed, nearly dropping the stack of linens she was carrying, and hurried past with a giggle.

“She was cute,” Scott quipped, twisting in his chair to smirk up at his youngest brother. “Go get her number. Just park me, I’ll wait.”

Alan laughed. “You don’t think she was looking at you?”

Scott rolled his eyes. “Like this?” He pointed at the bristles on his head where his super shiny coif once resided. “Don’t think so.”

“Hmm, you  _ are _ looking a little pasty,” Alan agreed, eliciting a snort from Scott. “Okay, are we here? Yeah, I think we are.” 

Double frosted glass doors parted as they approached, admitting them into a wide, sunlit space with views of the treeline beyond the hospital. A row of exercise machines stood against a mirrored wall, surrounded by treadmills, stationary bicycles, gym mats, and brightly colored inflatable balance balls. Near the middle of the room, a therapist guided a young girl sporting a flexible blade below her right knee between parallel bars, and an elderly gentleman used gnarled hands to pedal a tabletop cycling machine. Both wore expressions of intense concentration as they put their bodies through their paces, and Alan felt something in his midsection twist uncomfortably. Scott had always been a man of action, almost never at rest unless he was actually asleep, and seeing how noodly his legs had gotten in just a few weeks made the hair stand on the back of Alan’s neck. He stifled a sigh as Scott watched the little girl pick her way across the rubberized mat with longing. This was not going to be fun--for anyone.

A twenty-something man with dark wavy hair hanging to his shoulders got up from a workstation and walked toward them with a friendly smile. He jabbed the tablet in his hands a few times. “You must be Mr. Tracy,” he said, holding out a hand. “I’m Enzo, I’ll be your physical therapist.”

“Scott,” said the man in question, shaking Enzo’s hand, then jerked a thumb at his beaming chauffeur. “This is my little brother, Alan.” 

“Hi,” said Alan, reaching around Scott to shake Enzo’s hand as well. “You’re American?”

Enzo nodded. “My wife’s a Kiwi. When we visit the ‘States, everyone always gives me the business about my ‘accent’, but I can’t hear it.” He consulted his tablet once more. “So today we’re working on stability and coordination.” 

“Looking forward to it,” Scott sighed, making Alan’s gut twist even tighter. “Need to move.”

Enzo raised an eyebrow. “You may want to rethink that once we’re done, but I like your enthusiasm. If you’ll just follow me over here--?”

Two hours later, Scott sank back into the wheelchair, his whole body quivering with exhaustion. Alan shot him a worried look, but he ignored it and accepted the towel Enzo handed him to mop his sweaty face.

“Same time tomorrow?” 

Scott laid his head back on the headrest and held out a hand for a shaky fistbump. “You better believe it. Gotta get back up to speed.”

“You will, don’t worry.” Enzo caught Alan’s eye. “Make sure he rests, okay?”

Alan threw him a mock salute. “Will do, even if I have to rock him to sleep with real rocks.”

Scott threw his towel at Alan, who yelped and dodged. At the last instant, Alan snagged the soggy fabric out of the air and offered it to Enzo. “I believe this belongs to you,” he said, holding it away from him as if it were toxic.

Enzo laughed and accepted the towel from Alan, then tossed it into a laundry hamper. “I’ll be surprised if he’s still awake by the time you get to his room. He worked his butt off.”

Alan rolled his eyes. “That’s my big brother, all right.”

Scott pointed to the door. “Home, Parker.”

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but when Scott woke up, he couldn’t move. 

Sweat broke out all over his body; what had happened? His arms and legs wouldn’t respond, and he felt himself begin to hyperventilate. He had to get up, he had to get away, had to get home, he couldn’t--

“Easy, honey.” His grandmother’s face came into his field of vision, her eyes worried but her smile kind. “It’s all right. Take a deep breath.”

“Grandma?” What was she doing all the way out here in the desert? Had they captured her too? No, he’d been all alone when he’d been shot down, tumbling and rolling until he yanked the eject handles and been sent sailing into the hot blue of the sky. Then came the hard jolt of his parachute opening, no sound except that of wind and his own harsh breathing as the ground came up to meet him. He landed with a heavy thud, tossing up a plume of blinding, stinging grit, limbs tangling in the lines of his chute. He lay in a crumpled heap until feet came running, voices shouting in a language he knew but speaking too fast for him to catch. Rough hands jerked him upright and--

“Scott. Look at me. Breathe.” She put one hand on the side of his face, the other on his chest, and took an exaggerated breath. “Come on, sweetie. In, out. In, out. There you go.” 

_ Hospital. Injured. The faces of his family.  _ He glanced to where Gordon’s medal glimmered from its nest of blue satin, groping for the memory of the day his little brother had stood on the podium. His grandmother saw where he was looking, and moved her hand from his chest to retrieve the medal. The golden disc seemed to radiate calm as he ran his thumb against his brother’s name.  _ This happened, _ he reminded himself.  _ I was there.  _ Slowly, the harsh voices in his ear gave way to the roar of a crowd, pride welling in his heart until his eyes filled and the towering dunes blurred into a riot of color and motion. Gordon, clad in a red, white, and blue warm-up suit, bent to humbly accept first a bright bouquet, and then the medal as its ribbon settled around his neck. The anthem swelled and as the Stars and Stripes descended from the rafters, they sang with all their might,  _ Oh say can you see-- _

Reality clicked back into place, and his muscles unlocked. He groaned as pain flattened him back against the pillows. “Ohh,  _ man. _ Enzo kicked my  _ ass.” _

Grandma raised an eyebrow, though whether it was at his language or his non sequitur, he wasn’t sure. “Who’s Enzo?”

“My physical therapist.” He drew a ragged breath. “Sadistic bastard.”

Again, she quirked an eyebrow, but made no comment. “They’re bringing your dinner in just a bit, so let me have this.” She gently withdrew the medal from his fingers and laid it back in its box, giving it a fond caress of her own before turning back to him. “The doctor said to limber up your hands a little before they get here.”

He duly applied himself to the exercises, following his grandmother’s motions as he rolled his wrists and clenched and stretched his fingers, and soon there was a soft knock at the door. “Come in,” he called, shaking out his hands.

The door opened to reveal a young girl with dark hair and bronzed skin, wearing a blue shirt and black slacks and carrying a tray. There were several lidded plates on the tray, and she smiled through wafts of steam as she navigated her way toward him. “Dinner time, Mr. Tracy.”

He sat back and let her set the tray on his table. “Hey, I saw you today. I was with my brother.”

She gave a little gasp and blushed to the roots of her hair. “Yes, he was pushing you in the hallway!” She giggled. “Is he here?”

Grandma gave Scott a knowing smile and popped the lids on the dishes. “His name’s Alan. He’s not here at the moment, but I’ll tell him you said hello.”

“I’m Bibi--Beatrice, actually, but everyone calls me Bibi.” She pointed to her nametag. “Gosh, he’s soooo cute.” Her eyes went wide. “I mean, uh,--”

Scott laughed. “We’ll tell him. Right, Grandma?”

“Right.” She unwrapped the plastic spoon on his tray and stirred the bright red-orange liquid in the steaming bowl. “Nice to meet you, Bibi.”

The girl gave a little wave and practically floated out of the room, leaving the two Tracys chuckling. “Where  _ is _ Alan?” Scott asked, eyeing the contents of the bowl dubiously.

“Haiti,” Grandma said without hesitation. “Typhoon season is well under way, and John said this one was a doozy.”

“Oh.” Scott wasn’t entirely certain how he felt about being safe, warm, and about to have a hot meal while his brothers were probably cold, wet, hungry, and exhausted. “I didn’t even hear him leave.”

“He said you were pretty tired after your therapy session,” Grandma said, dishing up a spoonful and blowing on it for a moment. “Here, open up.”

After a brief hesitation, he did as she bade, letting the flavor roll around on his tongue for a moment. He swallowed gingerly, a little surprised that he recalled how to do so. “Hmm, not bad. Tomato soup?”

She picked up the card on the tray. “Even better: Pureed spaghetti and meatballs.”

He gulped. “That’s...not right. Tastes pretty good, though.” He bent to examine the rest of the dishes on the tray. “What else we got?”

“Let’s see.” Grandma consulted the card once more. “Strained carrots, oatmeal, and--ooh, nice--banana custard.” She grinned and dipped out another spoonful of ‘soup.’ “This reminds me of when you were little. Your mother got you a spoon that looked like an airplane, and I would say ‘Zoom zoom, Scotty, here comes the airplane, open the hangar!’ And your little mouth would just pop open.” She held up the white plastic version of his long-ago utensil. “Zoom zoom, Scotty, here comes Thunderbird One, retract the pool!”

_ “Grandma,”  _ Scott groaned, but once again did as she told him. They giggled and snorted their way through a few more bites, and then she offered the spoon to him. He hesitated for a brief second, then carefully curled his fingers around the utensil and proceeded to get his dinner into him with only a few slip-ups. 

Fifteen minutes later, his grandmother saw his fatigue and took the spoon from his shaking hand. “You did good, honey,” she praised. “I’ll take over for a bit.” 

He took a few more bites with her help, and then held up a hand. “Scotty’s full, Grandma.” 

“Aww, that’s my good boy.” She put down the spoon and opened the wet wipe on the tray. “Let’s clean up that cute little face.”

Scott heaved a long-suffering sigh and rolled his eyes, but he was smiling as he let her wipe away a trace of banana custard from his chin and the blob of oatmeal that had landed on his chest. “Thanks, Grandma.”

“You’re welcome, sweetheart.” She tidied the tray and set it aside, then poured a cup of water and stuck a straw in it. He reached out and took it from her, carefully folding his fingers around the cup, and was pleasantly surprised when he didn’t fumble it all over himself.

“That was...actually not bad.” He handed back the cup and settled onto the pillows. “I mean it, Grandma. Thank you. For everything.”

She leaned forward and kissed his cheek, then took his hands in hers. “I won’t lie; we were scared, but you managed to get through it.” She smiled. “You’re tough. I knew you’d come back to us.”

“Not all the way back, yet,” he frowned. “Everything takes so  _ long. _ Hard to get my thoughts together.”

“Sweetie, you had a _ head injury _ ,” she reminded him. “A piece of your skull was pressing into your brain, and your brain was swelling. Dr. Morton put the bone back where it belonged, but your brain needed to heal. That was why they put you to sleep, in order to rest it.”

“Oh.” Memory flickered: Similar words from a doctor in a long-ago hallway, fear and pain and the thought  _ please don’t take my little brother  _ running like a litany underneath the doctor’s quiet, intense speech. “Like Gordy.”

“Right. Thankfully, you were out for ten days instead of six weeks. Not that anyone’s keeping score; I was worried sick for you both.” Her smile returned, and she kissed his knuckles, giving his fingers a light squeeze. “I’m just glad I got to keep both of you.”


	11. Island Time

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who's coming home?!

“Tracy Island to Thunderbird Two.”

High above the Pacific, Virgil yawned, making a slight correction to the course of his beloved green craft. “This is Thunderbird Two,” he replied. “We’re about fifteen minutes out, Grandma, what’s up?”

“You’re gonna need to make a detour.”

He quirked an eyebrow and flicked through the displays one by one. “You sure? Radar’s clear from here to the island,” he confirmed. “Nothing that we need to avoid.”

“You’re not avoiding; you’re making a pickup.” An edge of excitement had crept into her voice, and Virgil’s heart gave a thump.

“What are you saying?”

Now the grin was evident. “Set course for Christchurch, sweetie,” she crowed. “Scotty’s coming home!”

Virgil reached out and thumped the arm of the aquanaut dozing in the copilot seat. “Y’hear that, Gordy? We’re gonna go get Scott!”

“Bzuh?” Gordon’s head jerked up, limbs flailing. He swiped at a line of drool on his chin and screwed up his eyes against the dawn streaming through the windscreen. “Scotty?”

“Yeah! Scott’s coming home; we’re gonna go get him.” Virgil found himself grinning as he flicked switches and reset ‘Two’s course. “Thanks, Grandma; we’ll be in touch once we’re airborne.”

“Okay, sweetie. Talk to you soon. Tracy Island out.”

“Man. I can’t believe it; he’s finally getting to come home,” Virgil murmured. “Maybe now we can get back to some sort of normalcy, huh?”

Gordon didn’t reply.

“Did you go back to sleep?” Virgil glanced over at the aquanaut, a frown creasing his brow when he saw that Gordon was indeed awake, but was silently staring out the window. “Hey, what’s wrong? This is what we’ve been waiting for, right? To finally have him back?”

“Yeah,” Gordon agreed, shifting in his seat. “But he won’t be...you know,  _ back _ back.” The amber eyes fell to the hands in his lap. “Not for a long time. Maybe not ever.”

_ Quit that, _ were the words on Virgil’s tongue, but he swallowed them. “We knew from the start he’d have a long recovery,” he reminded his younger brother. “Dr. Morton didn’t pull any punches about that.”

“No.” A sigh. “I dunno what’s wrong with me.”

“Come on, I know you didn’t think that he’d get out of the hospital and it’d be business as usual, did you?” Virgil shook his head and made a slight correction to their course. “He had a  _ traumatic brain injury _ . He was in a  _ coma _ for two weeks. He--”

_ “Okay, V, I get it.” _ Gordon blew out an explosive sigh. “And _ no, _ I didn’t think he’d jump out of bed yelling  _ ‘woohoo, I’m back, Thunderbirds are go’ _ .” The chiseled face was stormy under blond brows, the jaw tight. “I don’t know. Just…” Gordon’s voice trailed off, and Virgil raised an eyebrow; for Gordon to be without a pithy comeback was serious indeed.

“One day at a time, Gordy,” Virgil reminded him. “That’s how we’ll all get there. One day at a time.” He spared his younger brother a glance. “That’s how we got there with you.”

The way Gordon stiffened let Virgil know he’d hit the nerve perfectly, and Virgil’s heart gave a painful squeeze. Gordon, too, had been fetched from a hospital in a not-quite-healed state once upon a time, and the memories were biting hard. “I was the world’s worst convalescent,” he said sourly. “Scott? You’re gonna have to hog tie him to the bed to keep him out of the hangar.”

“Well, at least he’ll be in a hoverchair for the time being.” Virgil swung TB2’s nose around and put the craft down in a field next to the cement helicopter pad. “Hopefully we’ll be able to keep tabs on him for a while.”

Gordon held out a hand. “Fifty bucks says he’ll last three days before he wants out.”

Virgil scoffed. “Pssh, no bet. I give him twenty-four hours.” They shared a grin, and Virgil was cheered as he flicked switches and shut down his beloved ‘Bird. “Come on, fishie. Let’s go get our fearless leader.”

Over the years, it had become very apparent to Virgil and his brothers that International Rescue had fans and admirers the world over, and that the appearance of a Thunderbird in non-emergency situations was a prime photo opportunity. With his easy charm and dazzling smile, Gordon had been the one who had indulged the press the most, donning his blues to attend lifesaving competitions and ocean conservation events (though he wore a tux as a celebrity judge at a Miss Australia pageant). Scott had flown Thunderbird One to thrill a Graduation Day crowd at his Air Force Academy alma mater a few years previous, and John had recently accompanied Ridley to the International Space Station for a ‘space summit’ in full iR regalia. Even Alan had gotten into the act, proudly wearing his blues to film a series of children’s PSAs on fire and earthquake safety.

However, today Virgil had no desire to draw attention as they fetched Scott from the hospital. Besides, with the recent quake, some might see them and think another emergency was at hand, and the last thing Scott needed was to see people panicking. So it was that after securing ‘Two on her makeshift landing pad, Virgil and Gordon exchanged blues for civvies, and slipped unnoticed through the crowd at Auckland Memorial Hospital. If the smudge-eyed nurse they shared the elevator with realized who they were, she either didn’t comment, or was yawning too much to pay attention. 

The hallway was quiet as they stepped off the elevator and swiped their well-worn visitor IDs through the card reader, and as they entered the recovery unit, Virgil smiled once again at the familiar jet-age furnishings. Weeks earlier, as part of his duties as Interim President of Tracy Industries, John had convinced TI’s accounts payable department to spring for a remodel of the bland and uncomfortable space. In gratitude, the hospital had named the recovery unit after its celebrity patient, ensuring that even after he left, the comfortable environment his family created would remain for future patients.

When his brothers entered his room, said celebrity patient was sitting upright in a regular chair, wearing his usual jeans, Oxford shirt, and Chucks, the remains of a non-pureed lunch on the table before him and an American football game on the television. As Virgil watched, Scott picked up the plastic cup of iced tea and sipped without mishap, a smile spreading across the well-loved face at the antics of the players on the screen. The brown hair atop his head was still a bit too short for his trademark styling gel, but had grown enough to cover the scars from his surgery. Virgil cleared his throat, a habit he’d picked up so as not to startle Scott; however, the blue eyes flicked unerringly toward his visitors, and his smile widened.

“Hey, you two,” Scott chirped. Pushing the wheeled table out of the way, he got to his feet with a small wobble, but held out a hand to stay his brothers when they would have rushed to steady him. “Come to fetch the invalid home?”

Rather than starting in on his usual teasing, Gordon’s expression was full-on rescue mode. “Where’s your hoverchair?” he snapped. “Last thing we need is for you to take a header.”

Scott raised an eyebrow, then shot Virgil a glance. “Uh, it’s over there,” he pointed out, plucking a keyfob from the table before him and thumbing it to life. The sleek little craft beeped, rose from the floor and floated over, its control panel illuminated in green to show that it was ready for use.

“Take it easy, Gords,” Virgil muttered, as Scott eyed the aquanaut warily. “How are you feeling today, Scotty?”

“Excellent. Looking forward to getting home; this place is making me stir crazy.” His conversation was now almost as easy as it had been before his injury, with only the occasional groping for words. “How’s life on Planet Tracy?”

“Can’t complain,” Virgil replied, hanging on to the chair so Scott could ease his tall frame into the seat. Displaying a level of dexterity that made Virgil’s heart soar, Scott buckled the safety belt and tightened it over his hips, then reached for the joystick and nudged it into life. “Looking pretty savvy with that thing,” Virgil commented. 

“Yeah, it’s a clever little gadget.” Scott made it slide from side to side, then turn in a slow circuit. “It needs an engineer’s touch, though. You and Brains could soup it up nicely.” He grinned. “I know your fingers have got to be itching to get a hold of it.”

Virgil barked out a laugh. “Well, I might have a few ideas for some refinements,” he quipped. “For now, let’s just make sure we get you out of here in one piece.” He grabbed up Scott’s bag of toiletries, hospital swag, and a thick packet of get-well cards bundled together with surgical tape. “I understand there were goodie baskets delivered this morning to the staff,” he informed Scott, handing Gordon the bag to collect a large floral arrangement sent by Ridley and the crew of Global One. Gordon had already grabbed up a potted plant sent by the senior staff of TI, so he dropped the bag in Scott’s lap, sprinkling the former patient with glitter from the handmade cards. 

“That’s right,” Scott replied, brushing glitter from his jeans. “Remind me to thank John and Grandma for thinking of that.”

Virgil ducked into the bathroom and bedroom to make sure they hadn’t left anything behind, and he paused in the doorway to look at the bed Scott had vacated under his own power that morning. The walls were bare of their previous holographic displays, the IV poles stood unadorned, and all the tubing and hoses were long since taken away. The small camera interface that had allowed them to see Scott from their comms was gone as well, confirming Virgil’s suspicion that John had received the word first and come to retrieve the unit. 

There was something else he needed to remember, something important--Ah, he remembered now. He moved to the bedside table and pulled open the drawer, and was relieved to find that Gordon’s gold medal was not there. He’d double check before they left, but it seemed that either Scott or his nurses had made certain the precious object was packed in Scott’s belongings. 

He shut the drawer and studied the recliner situated next to the bed. He wondered if he could even guess at how many hours they’d spent in it, whether talking and reading to an unresponsive Scott, dozing off during long vigils, or in his case, thumbing the beads of his mother’s rosary while pleading for Scott’s recovery. Now that day was here, and he stood with tears welling as he took one last look at the empty room. Scott had come back to them, and now he was going home to complete his recovery. It had been nothing short of a miracle, and he knew that the fancy baskets of fruit and cookies and other snacks were only a small demonstration of their gratitude.

Gordon appeared in the doorway. “You planning on moving in, Virg?” He snorted. “Let’s blow this popsicle stand.”

“Coming.” Virgil smirked at Scott before taking up a position behind the hover chair. “Besides, I owe Scott a cup of coffee that's not from a hospital.”

_ “Welcome home, Scott!” _

The cheer came from five throats, but Alan was the first to break ranks from between John and Kayo and fling himself at his eldest brother the moment the lift touched the hangar floor. “So glad you’re home!” he squealed. 

Ruth came forward and pried Alan off. “Now don’t crowd him,” she chided. “Let’s all get upstairs, and we’ll have a nice dinner to celebrate.”

“Uh, well, we just ate,” Gordon explained, as Brains did a quick fade into the background and John and Kayo exchanged a squeamish look. “But I agree with the getting upstairs part.” He yawned. “This little fish needs some shuteye.”

“Wait.” Scott maneuvered the hoverchair past ‘Two’s bulk until Thunderbird One’s silo came into view. The family fell silent, and Virgil stepped up beside him, his hand resting on Scott’s shoulder.

“God, she’s beautiful.” Scott’s voice was ragged with unshed tears. “Never thought I’d see her again.”

“Just took a little while to get here,” Virgil reminded him. “Speaking of, do you wanna spend some time with her? I’ve got stuff I can do down here if you wanna hang out for a few.”

Scott looked up at his ‘Bird for a long moment, then shook his head. “No, let’s get you and Gordy upstairs. She’s not going anywhere...for a while, anyway.”

Later that night, Virgil was getting himself a glass of water from the refrigerator door when he heard voices from the living room. Quietly, so as not to disturb the conversation, he climbed the stairs halfway to the lounge, and then perched himself on a step that brought him to eye level with the floor.

“I know this was really rough on you,” Scott was saying to the other person in the room. “This brought up some bad memories, I’m sure.”

“Kinda, yeah,” came the reply, and Virgil smiled sadly to himself: Gordon. “I’m glad Pen--Lady Penelope was there; she and I talked a lot while you were asleep.”

“I’m glad she could be there for you. Virgil tells me that you two have really hit it off.”

“Yeah, well,  _ Virgil needs to keep his mouth shut,” _ Gordon snapped, but Virgil chuckled, echoing his oldest brother. 

“Come on, it’s pretty obvious there’s a thing between you two,” Scott chided goodnaturedly, but then his voice went soft. “You know, since I woke up, I’ve discovered something...something I should have known a long time ago.”

“That I’m the cute one in the family?”

“Oh, we decided that a long time ago,” Scott breezed, and it brought a smile to Virgil’s lips to hear Gordon edging back into his quippy self. “No, this is important enough that I want to pass it on to you.”

Gordon sounded more than a little dubious. “Oh? I think the last time you dispensed a nugget of brotherly wisdom it was of the ‘don’t eat yellow snow’ or ‘don’t take wooden nickels’ or ‘don’t squat with your spurs on’ variety.”

“I missed your sass, Gordon, but I tell you what: My sass tank is quickly getting full.”

Virgil snorted into his glass of water, but thankfully neither of his brothers heard the noise.

“Hey, just bringing things back to normal,” Gordon said. “What’s this wise dictum, oh honored eldest brother, that I might inscribe it upon my heart and the nearest public bathroom wall?”

When he spoke, Scott’s voice was quiet again, and deeply thoughtful. “What I discovered is...is that  _ time is precious, _ Gordy. It gets away from us so fast.”

Gordon was silent.

“We all know this,” Scott said gently. “We’ve known this ever since we lost Mom, and when you got hurt, and then with Dad…” He cleared his throat. “Anyway. What I mean is, if you think you love Penny, then you ought to tell her. Don’t wait.”

Virgil nodded to himself at the sage advice. He himself had received the same advice, though it had been from Grandma rather than Scott, with the result that he and Kayo were beginning to consider the future with a great deal of seriousness.

Now it was Gordon’s voice that was soft. “I know. I will.”

“Make sure you do it soon, Gordy. In a business like ours, your next callout might be your last. Mine almost was.” A sigh. “All right, enough of that. I think I have something that belongs to you.”

Virgil sat up, setting aside his glass to peer between the couches at his brothers. As he watched, Scott dug around in the bag they’d brought home until he came up with a small, flat box covered in black velvet. He opened the lid of the box, revealing the palm-sized golden disc surrounded by its precisely folded blue ribbon embroidered with white stars. “This meant more to me than you’ll ever know.” 

Gordon’s throat worked. “If you need to keep it a while longer, that’s fine with me.”

“Well,  _ I’m _ back where  _ I _ belong...so now  _ it _ needs to go back where  _ it _ belongs, too.” Scott smiled, then closed the lid before slowly getting to his feet. Carefully putting one foot in front of the other, he crossed the lounge and placed the medal in Gordon’s hands. They stood looking down at it for a moment, and then Gordon’s arms went around Scott, hugging his oldest brother to him in a tight grip with the medal pressed between them. For the first time since they’d been called to Christchurch all those weeks ago, the aquanaut’s body relaxed, the broad shoulders hitching with quiet sobs.

“Shhh,” Scott soothed, his hand against the back of Gordon’s head. “Big bro’s here, fishie. It’s gonna be okay.”


	12. Space Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His convalescence nearly complete, Scott is becoming increasingly antsy to get back into action. Virgil and John have other ideas.

Scott leaned over and tapped the comm. “How’s it going?”

Virgil’s voice came back immediately, solid and in control. “Doing good. Gordy and Al are shoring up the south side of the building with stabilizing foam, and Kayo is evacuating everyone in an orderly fashion. We’ll drop the injured off at the medical facility and then be on our way home.” A yawn. “Looking forward to it.”

“I’m sure you are,” Scott mused, paging through the windows that gave him info on every member’s bio stats, as well as the uniform cam feeds from all three members on the ground. The people moving away from the partially-collapsed building were dusty and--quite literally--shaken, but as Virgil had said, all were calmly letting Kayo herd them across the debris-strewn parking lot to where the reassuring bulk of Thunderbird Two sat atop the asphalt. Both pods were working perfectly, Gordon and Alan putting them through their paces in a well-practiced dance. He listened for a moment to the two youngest bantering back and forth, unable to help a smirk even as his fingers itched to tap the comm again and remind them to--

“Thunderbird Three and Four,” said Virgil, a hard edge to his voice. “We may be on cleanup, but that’s not an excuse to play around. Cut the chatter.”

“F A B,” they chorused, duly chastened, and fell into silence.

“Last victim evacuated,” chimed Kayo. “John, would you do a scan just to make sure we didn’t miss anyone?”

“All victims accounted for,” John’s voice snapped back in its usual no-nonsense tone. “Virgil, you are clear to proceed.”

“F A B, Thunderbird Five. Loading everyone up in the module now.”

“Pod Two stabilizing foam exhausted,” Alan chirped. “Gordon, you ‘bout done?”

“Yeah, I’m out. This place isn’t going anywhere, though; it’s stuck harder than a spoon in Grandma’s chocolate custard.”

“Gordon,” Virgil rumbled.

“Well it is!”

Scott snorted and tapped the comm. “Good job, Thunderbirds. See you when you--”

John’s voice cut in, the calm, satisfied tone replaced by hot urgency. “Thunderbird Two: I’ve got a request for assistance coming in from the Bahamas.”

Scott watched as the globe above the table swung dizzily from Italy to the tiny island nation. “What’s up, Thunderbird Five?” he asked. After a moment of puzzled silence, he realized that his and Virgil’s voices had asked the question in chorus. “Sorry, Virg--”

“No, Scott, it’s okay--”

It was John who cast the deciding vote. “Thunderbird One, stand by. Thunderbird Two, Hurricane Jamie has finally moved away from the islands, but they’re still dealing with high winds and flooding. The Prime Minister has requested our help with evac and demolition.”

“Let him know we’re on our way, Thunderbird Five,” said Virgil, authority ringing in his voice. “Kayo, you’re with me. We’ll drop off the evacuated passengers from Module Two at the triage center, then be back for Pods One and Two. Gordy, Alan, be ready to load up when we get back.”

“F A B,” came the trio of voices. No one complained about how tired or hungry they were, and Scott felt pride well up in his chest.

“Can we get drive-thru on the way?” Gordon whined. “I’m starving!”

The comm collapsed into a cacophony of chatter, and Scott couldn’t help a facepalm. So much for his mature, well-oiled team, he thought, but Virgil’s voice cut through the noise like a hot knife through butter.

“Knock it off!” The comm went silent, and Scott felt his insides recoil in sympathy. “Gordon, you just earned wire brush duty when we get back. Keep it up and you’ll be emptying ‘Two’s onboard latrine.  _ Manually. _ ”

“He was just--” Alan ventured, but Virgil cut him off again.

“Wanna give him a hand, Alan?”

The young voice came back instantly, giving Scott the mental image of a puppy cowering with its tail between its legs. “No sir.”

“That’s what I thought. Stay on task, Thunderbirds. I’ve got stuff for us to eat on the way, Gordon; you won’t starve.”

Scott leaned back in his father’s desk chair for a moment, then reached out and tapped John’s private channel. “Damn. Do I sound like that?”

“Like what?” The space monitor’s voice was limned with irritation at being interrupted. “Stand by, Scott; I need to--”

John’s voice was replaced with a milder, pre-recorded version over a soothing piece of music Virgil himself had composed. “Thank you for calling International Rescue. Your call is extremely important to us. We will be with you in just a moment.  _ Gracias por llamar al Rescate Internacional. Usted llamada es…” _

Rolling his eyes, Scott cut the comm feed and sat watching his team’s icons hover over the terrain. The view wasn’t an uncommon one, as there had been times when he had stayed behind for various reasons, but today it made him feel like a third arm--useless and getting in the way.

There was movement out of the corner of his eye, and he turned to see his grandmother holding a steaming cup. She set the cup on the desk, then folded her arms and cast her own eyes toward the holographic globe. “Hard to be on the sidelines, huh, sweetie?”

He took a swallow from the cup and grimaced: She’d given him tea again, though this time it was black and sweet instead of herbal. “Yeah, sure is. I know they’ve got it under control, but…” He shrugged. “I’m not even manning the comms for them; I’m just a spectator.” A sigh.  _ “Really _ hard to get used to  _ that.” _

Ruth hugged him about the shoulders. “I know. Just a few more sessions with the neurologist to make sure you’re firing on all cylinders, and you’ll be cleared for comm duty.”

He rolled his eyes again. “Yeah. Woo-hoo. So exciting.” He watched his grandmother’s brows drew together, and instantly felt a wave of guilt wash over him. “I know, I had a head injury, ten days intubated, lucky to be alive, etcetera. I’ll be quiet.”

“Don’t be in such a hurry, Scotty,” she murmured, petting his gelled hair. “You’ll be out there soon enough. Take some time and just  _ be, _ okay?”

That was the problem, Scott mused. He’d never been very good at just  _ being. _ He’d always been on the move, reaching for the next goal. To be constrained to baby steps the last few weeks had been frustrating, even as his doctors continued to be pleased with his progress.

He got to his feet and restlessly paced the boards above the sunken lounge. Much to Gordon and Alan’s disappointment, the hoverchair had been loaded up and left at the hospital after last week’s consultation with Enzo. He had even resumed his daily jog on the beach--with Kayo in tow for safety’s sake. It had been wonderful to move his body freely, even though his inactivity during his convalescence had meant they had to turn back after only half a mile.

Even now, he stifled a yawn, grinning sheepishly when Ruth’s frown deepened. “Okay, Grandma, what’s that look for?”

“You’ve been up since they left,” she chided. “That was ten hours ago. You need a nap, mister.”

Scott made a face. “Don’t you think I’m a little old for you to be putting me down for a nap?”

_ “Get, _ ” Ruth ordered, “or I’ll tuck you in, too.”

The ripple of conversation and the smell of food wafting from downstairs told Scott that he’d been asleep much longer than the hour-long nap he’d planned. After a good stretch, he got to his feet and padded across the room to head downstairs. He found Kayo drinking a cup of green tea at the table as Gordon sleepily demolished a short stack of pancakes. Alan shuffled past, his own empty plate bearing a few smears of syrup. Brains alone looked bright-eyed and chipper, consulting his tablet while MAX stood beside him like an adoring terrier. A closer look told Scott the reason for Brains’ wide-awake attitude: A small cup at his elbow that held just a trace of caramel-colored  _ crema,  _ the remains of his latest serving of espresso.

Virgil, Scott noticed, was nowhere to be seen, and he ruffled Alan’s hair as he went past on his way to the kitchen and a waiting plate of surplus pancakes. “Hey, where’s the big guy?”

Alan yawned hugely. “Nunno. Hangar, ‘guess.” He waved a hand toward the remaining people in the room. “‘Night.”

“Goodnight, Alan,” Kayo sighed, folding forward to rest her head atop her arms on the table. 

Brains didn’t look up at first, but then he blinked and raised his head in time to see Alan’s retreat. “Oh, uh, goodnight.”

Gordon gave an inarticulate noise that sounded either like a sneeze or a grunt and followed--albeit slowly--in his little brother’s footsteps. Scott stood and watched him go, brows knitted, and then turned to take the elevator down to the hangar.

He found Virgil as Alan said he would, still seated in the cockpit of his beloved ‘Bird. He was also still in his blues, though he’d laid his baldric aside and peeled off the neoprene so the sleeves hung loose from his waist, his sweaty black arming tunic clinging to him like a second skin. Scott stood and watched Virgil work for a moment, marveling at how his middle brother had grown from a scabby-kneed kid, hands always bashed up from some project or other, to this gentle giant of a man who prided himself on knowing the ins and outs of machinery more complex than the average engineer would ever get their hands on.

“What can I do for you, Scott?” Virgil asked, not turning around. His fingers flipped switches and scanned through schematics as easily as he coaxed music from the piano.

“Don’t you think it’s time to pack it in?” Scott walked forward into the cabin and stood beside Virgil, reaching out to rest a hand on his brother’s shoulder. “Everyone else is upstairs. Alan just went to bed, and Gordon’s right on his heels.” He chuckled. “Though I’m not sure Gordon’s gonna make it all the way to his room; I won’t be surprised if we find him curled up on the stairwell.”

Virgil huffed out a laugh, but continued working. “I’ll be here awhile. You go back upstairs; you need your rest.”

“So do you.” Scott planted his feet and crossed his arms. “It’ll wait.”

“No, it  _ won’t,” _ Virgil countered. “You always say: ‘Never put off until tomorrow--”

“--what you can do today,’” Scott finished for him. “I know, but--” He sighed. “You spend enough time in that seat. I don’t wanna come down in the morning and find you asleep in it.”

Virgil paused and lowered his hand, then turned to face his older brother, bringing his stubbled chin and dark circles under his bloodshot eyes into view. “Scott, do you know what our average response time is?”

Scott snorted; he knew that as well as his own name. “Four minutes, thirty-five seconds from call to launch.”

“And do you know how we consistently clock in that time? By being in a constant state of readiness.” He studied Scott for a long moment, then turned back to his console. “In other words, if this ‘Bird isn’t ready to go when I plant my ass in this chair, people die.”

Something sharp twisted in Scott’s gut, and he narrowed his eyes at Virgil. “I get it, but answer me this: How many people do you think you’ll be able to save when that ass is dragging, huh?”

Virgil didn’t reply. Instead, he jumped out of his seat and made to push past Scott on his way aft, but Scott grabbed fistfuls of his arming tunic and arrested his forward motion. Before his injuries, Scott would have slammed him against the bulkhead, but now he resorted to digging in his heels and pushing against Virgil’s chest. “I asked you a  _ question, _ Thunderbird Two,” Scott growled. “I may be on the sidelines, but  _ I’m still the goddamned commander of this unit! _ ”

For six agonizing heartbeats, Virgil’s gaze drilled into Scott’s, his jaw knotting. “No, you’re  _ not,” _ Virgil answered evenly. _ “I  _ am.  _ You _ gave me this job.” Tears welled in Virgil’s eyes. “Right before you stopped breathing.”

Scott blinked, a swirl of memories assaulting him.  _ His father in white, a beach, deep satisfaction and yet wishing it hadn’t ended, he still had more to do… _

“You looked right at me and said ‘you’re the boss now.’  _ Excuse me _ for taking you seriously when you’re on death’s doorstep.”

Forcing his hands to unclench, Scott took a step back. “Of  _ course  _ I handed over chain of command to you; that’s our protocol.” He could feel a headache coming on and raised a hand to his head, bringing alarm into Virgil’s face, but he waved his brother off. “I’m sorry. What I meant to say was: Don’t push so hard, huh?”

Virgil took a deep, shaky breath. “I swore to myself that I would do everything I could to lead us as well as you do. I spent  _ days _ watching you fight your way back to us and I’ll be  _ damned _ if I let anything get in the way of you coming  _ all _ the way back.” He shrugged. “If that means I have to push things a little to pick up the slack, then so be it.”

“Virg, we’re Tracys. We don’t just push a _ little.”  _ Scott sighed, feeling drained. “I’ve been there. I’ve flown my ‘Bird through my eyelids. I've existed on adrenaline and coffee. We’ve  _ all  _ been there.”

Virgil stared at his big brother for a long moment. “So what are you saying?”

Scott found that his own eyes were wet, and he blinked away the blurriness to give Virgil a watery smile. “I’m saying that maybe it’s time to take better care of ourselves. Yeah, we’re still gonna get tired, but maybe not  _ stupid _ tired.” He snorted. “I know you want me back, but you can’t heal  _ me _ by wringing  _ yourself _ dry, you know.”

A rough chuckle. “Who says?”

“I do, you big ox.” Scott pulled him into a hug, then stepped back and wrapped a hand around the back of Virgil’s neck. “So quit it. International Rescue is down one member; no good reason for it to be down two, if we can help it.”

“You’re right.” Virgil sighed and wiped his eyes on the hem of his shirt. “You’re right.”

“I’m the big brother, of  _ course _ I’m right.” Scott squeezed Virgil’s nape, then released him. “So, you coming down?”

“No.” Virgil held up his hands, quelling Scott’s indignant splutter. “But I’m almost done, I swear. You can even stay and help me if you want.”

Scott eyed him dubiously. “What do you need?”

“Here.” Virgil flicked a switch and brought a holographic list into view. “Go through the supply list and see if there’s any holes.” When Scott made a face, he pointed to the list again. “You wanna help? Check the list.”

“Fine, fine.” Dropping into the co-pilot’s chair, Scott settled to his task while his brother turned back to his own post-flight checks. “Well, according to this, you’re missing a bedpan.”

“Hm. Check with Gordon; he’s probably got it.”

“What the--” Scott shook his head. “No. I don’t wanna know.” He glanced at the list, noting items that needed to be restocked, and sent the file over to Virgil with a flick of his fingers. “There. Resupply list is go.”

Virgil scrolled through the list, nodding to himself. “Thanks for doing that.” He split the window into two, populated the second with the needed items, and then sent it to the secure warehouse in Melbourne where the bulk of their operating supplies were delivered. Scott sighed; he was usually the one who went with Virgil to pick up their supplies, but right now he wondered if he’d be allowed to assist with even  _ that _ mundane job. Thankfully, Virgil’s voice cut into his musings before they could get too maudlin. 

“Alright, the order will arrive on Thursday. Wanna come with?”

Scott tried and failed to keep the eagerness out of his voice. “Sure, I’ll be glad to lend a hand.”

“Of course,” Virgil added, “Gordy and Kayo will handle the heavy stuff, but I thought you might appreciate a change of scenery. You’ll have the important job: Scoring us some take-away for lunch.”

Scott made a rude noise. “Oooh, Thunderbird Go-Fer,” he scoffed.  _ “So _ glamorous.”

“Hey, we gotta eat, don’t we? Part of that ‘taking care of ourselves’ thing you’ve been yelling about today.” Virgil sighed wearily and shut the console down. “Speaking of food, _ I _ need some, and I don’t mean celery crunch bars.” He made a face. “I have  _ no _ idea why Gordon likes those; they give me some wicked gas.”

“I think that’s why he likes them.” Scott rose to his feet to follow Virgil to the lift. “And I wasn’t yelling.”

Virgil raised an eyebrow.  _ “‘I’m the goddamned commander of this unit?’” _ He snorted. “You sure as hell didn’t learn  _ that _ from Dad.”

“Did so,” Scott countered, as they crossed the hangar to the main elevator. “Dad could be a hard-ass. You just don’t remember.” They entered the lift and leaned against opposite walls, facing each other. “We miss him so much that it’s like…” He trailed off, racking his newly-healed cortices for an appropriate word.

“We’ve eulogized him,” Virgil replied softly, staring at the floor. “We’ve done that thing where we only mention the best about him, the noble things, the heroic things he did. We skip over the  _ real  _ stuff, the things that made him our living, breathing Dad.” He raised his head and fixed Scott with a mischievous grin. “For example: Talk about gas; Dad could out-fart all of us. Gordon included.”

Scott leaned his head back against the wall and laughed. “Oh, _man,_ could he _ever!_ Grandma used to get so pissed at him for stinking up the living room. And remember how he used to give Zeb the stablehand the day off and make us muck out the stalls every time we left the toilet seat up?” Scott snickered. “One time Gordy said that was dumb because we were all guys and Grandma had her own bathroom.” He rolled his eyes. “As I recall, he never said _that_ again.”

Virgil, too, laid his head back against the wall, his gaze going far away. “I remember that. I miss the farm sometimes, but that’s one thing I _ don’t _ miss. Although sometimes our chores are still just as disgusting,” he said with a rueful smile.

The elevator dinged and opened onto the kitchen level, and they stepped out onto the teak boards. “Yeah, like manually emptying ‘Two’s latrine,” Scott snarked, opening the oven to reveal a glass baking dish full of pancakes. “I noticed  _ that _ got Gordon’s attention.” He grabbed the dish--and then instantly dropped it on the oven door, hissing in pain.  _ “Shit!” _ He shook his fingers, then folded them into his armpits.  _ “Damn, _ that hurt.”

“Would you  _ please _ stop injuring yourself?” Virgil grabbed him by the shoulders and marched him over to the sink, then ran the cool tap and stuck Scott’s hands under the water. “I swear, I feel like I need to swaddle you in bubble wrap or something.” He let the water run for a minute, then shut it off and took Scott’s hands into his, peering at the inflamed digits. “Hmm.”

“Give it to me straight, Doc,” Scott said tonelessly, as Virgil grabbed a towel and gently dried the reddened skin. “Will I ever play the tuba again?”

“Considering you never learned, I sure as hell hope  _ not _ .” Virgil tossed the towel aside and turned to fish a pair of oven mitts from a drawer. “Try again, hot shot, only don’t burn your fingers off this time.”

“ _ Now _ maybe you’ll stop calling  _ me _ a ‘smother hen’,” Scott tossed over his shoulder, using the oven mitts to retrieve the hot pan and set it on the stove. He removed the mitts and shut the oven door, then reached up to retrieve a plate from the cupboard. Snatching a pair of tongs from the utensil crock on the counter, he grabbed up a half dozen of the fluffy rounds and piled them on the plate, then set the plate in front of Virgil at the bar. “Bone app-eh-tee-toe _ ,” _ he snarked.

“Penny would stab you in the neck with her Louboutins if she heard you murdering the French language like that,” Virgil laughed, loading his cakes with butter and syrup. “And what’s this noise about me being a smother-hen?” He cut a wedge from the cakes and speared it with his fork. “Just looking out for you, that’s all.”

“You don’t think I’ve wanted to wrap you all in bubble wrap?” Scott shook his head and leaned against the counter. “I’ve had to fight off that urge since the day you were born, times four. Nice to know that I’m not the only one afflicted with that malady.”

Virgil put his fork down, then chewed and swallowed. “John accused me of that, too, right after you woke up. I was all over him about sleeping and eating, and he called me out.” He shrugged and speared another wedge. “I guess he was right; it just sort of gets downloaded with the job description.”

“I dunno  _ what _ my job description is now,” Scott said sourly, crossing his arms over his chest. “Useless appendage? Seat warmer?” He jerked his chin toward Virgil’s rapidly emptying plate. “Waitstaff?”

Virgil mopped up some syrup with a golden-brown triangle of pancake, then raised his eyes to Scott’s. “I’ll take any of those over picking out your headstone,” he said quietly.

“I--” Scott sighed. “Yeah. Sorry.”

“You’ll be back in the saddle soon,” Virgil reassured him. “Don’t push it.”

“That’s what Grandma told me.”

“Well then, there you go.”

“What’ll I do till  _ then?” _ Scott whined. “Brains changed Thunderbird One’s access codes; I can’t even get into the cockpit and just sit in the chair.” He pursed his lips in thought. “Wonder if I could bribe John into hacking the database.”

“Are you  _ kidding _ me? You’d be better off talking to MAX.” Virgil’s eyes went wide, his finger pointing at Scott in an ‘aha!’ gesture. “I’ve got it! You can read some fan mail.”

Scott groaned. “Here lies Scott Carpenter Tracy, buried under the missives of his adoring fans.” He raised an eyebrow. “On second thought, that might not be so bad.”

“They send photos.” Virgil looked like his pancakes had suddenly turned sour in his stomach.

“Cute ones?”

_ “They send photos,” _ Virgil reiterated. “Full stop.”

“Hmm. Maybe I’ll go rearrange my sock drawer instead.”

“Iron your underwear.”

“Take up recreational flossing.”

“Go watch some paint dry.”

They collapsed into laughter, snorting and giggling until Scott moaned and clutched his stomach. “Oh,  _ oof,”  _ he gritted through a pained grin. “That’s still kinda sore.”

Virgil picked up his plate and walked it into the kitchen. “News flash: Abdominal surgery will do that to you.” He let out a belch that echoed against the boards.

“That was  _ weak,  _ Tracy,” Scott snarked at him over his shoulder. “A five at best.”

“Nah, that was a solid seven.” Virgil put his plate and utensils in the dishwasher, then turned back to Scott with a yawn. “Well, whatever you do, please don’t use anything sharp while unsupervised. I’m gonna hit the sack.”

Scott chuckled, one hand still draped across his stomach. “Okay, I promise. And before you say it,  _ yes,  _ I plan to go to bed soon, too.” He tossed him a mock-salute. “G’night, V.”

“‘Night, Scotty.”

Scott made sure Virgil gained the landing without mishap, then sighed and moved to the now-cool dish of pancakes. He reached for a plate, then closed the cupboard without getting one down and took the pan over to the table. He eyed the butter knife warily, then smiled to himself and buttered his pancakes with the back of a spoon.

Two weeks later, Virgil sat at his father’s desk, scrolling through Dr. Morton’s latest report on Scott’s neurological state. On the other side of the comm, John was also reviewing the report, and his eyes flicked to Virgil’s when his brother gave an affirmative grunt.

“So?” John prodded. “What do you think?”

Virgil shut down the report, knowing that simple act sent it back into Scott’s file on the mainframe, shunting it into various subfolders labeled ‘health’ and ‘incidents,’ all classified by date. “Well, it’s all good news: Scott’s short-term memory, as well as his visual, auditory, and language centers are all working at or very near the baseline we sent to the hospital from his annual physical.”

John’s left arm cradled his right elbow, and he tapped his top lip with his right thumb. “Do I hear a ‘but’ coming?”

“You don’t,” Virgil countered. “Scott’s doing well. They’ve cleared him for light duty.”

“Whatever we decide  _ that _ is,” John supplied. “I know he’ll be ecstatic.”

“He just isn’t cleared for flight yet,” Virgil reminded him, rubbing his eyes and yawning.  _ “That’s _ what he’s hoping for.”

“It’s what we're  _ all  _ hoping for,” John retorted. “We just need to decide what kind of bone to throw him so he won’t go completely off the deep end before he’s fully cleared.”

“I’ve been racking my brain all day, but I’m coming up empty.” Virgil sighed. “Everything we do is so labor-intensive. He’s been our backup at the comms for a week, and while it’s good practice, I know he’s gotta be hungry for more.”

“John." EOS’ dulcet tones broke in, her everywhere-and-nowhere voice reminding Virgil that she was privy to every conversation in the house. "I may have a solution to this dilemma.”

Her creator couldn’t hide a quick, proud smile. “What do you propose?”

“There are always tasks that need to be completed, many of which go undone while International Rescue is experiencing high call volume,” she said. “Perhaps you could recruit Scott to complete some of them, as many require manual dexterity and concentration, rather than sheer physical effort.”

“Hmm.” John tapped his lip again. “That’s a thought.”

“Also: Scott might find a zero-g environment comforting to any lingering injury he sustained during the incident.”

“He’s told me he feels a few twinges now and again,” Virgil mused. “What do you think, spaceman? You wanna play host to your big bro for a while?”

John nodded. “I think that might be a good first outing. If Scott’s cleared for comms then why  _ not _ have him up here? Like EOS said, there’s always something to do, and I’d be glad of the help.”

Virgil grinned. “He’s gonna be  _ so  _ excited. I think  _ you _ should be the one to invite him up.”

“I’m excited, too.” John shared his brother’s grin. “He’s one step closer to being back in the chair.”

“Busy work.” Scott frowned at his brother’s hologram, arms crossed over his chest. “You want me to come up there and do a bunch of busy work for you.”

Behind him, Virgil did a facepalm. John, however, didn’t seem to be fazed by his big brother’s attitude, and though Virgil could hear the faintest edge creep into John’s voice, he knew it was frustration, not anger, that put it there.

“No, not busy work,” John countered. “There’s always stuff that I can’t get to, and I--well,  _ we,  _ Virgil and I--we thought that you could help us out while you’re rehabbing. You’re cleared for comms, so you can back me up if we get busy.”

Scott stared at John, lips twisted in doubt. “For how long?”

John looked past Scott at Virgil. “What do you think, Virgil, two weeks? At least until his next checkup?”

Virgil stood from where he’d been sitting on the corner of Jeff’s desk. “Sounds good to me. How ‘bout it, Scooter?”

“Well, not like I’m doing anything around here,” Scott mused. “Okay. Send me up.”

_ “All right.” _ Virgil trotted down the steps to the lounge and hugged Scott around the shoulders. “One step closer, bro. And hey: Your first gear-up since you’ve been back! That counts for something, doesn’t it?”

Scott gave him a grudging smile. “It does. I think my uniform might be a little loose for a while, but it’s definitely a step in the right direction.”

In an emergency, few sights were more welcome to weary eyes than of the ‘boys in blue’ and their mighty machines. However, no complete photos of the uniforms existed, thanks to specialized image scrambling technology embedded in the suits themselves. Remembering his own sons’ childhoods, Jeff had been shrewd enough to grant toy companies licenses to market ‘International Rescue’ costumes, and toy replicas of the vehicles were popular with children and collectors the world over. Of course, none of those copies held a candle to the real thing.

Unlike their kiddie counterparts, each of the real uniforms was different from the others. Even the shades of blue, were Virgil to lay them side by side on his canvas, were distinct. John’s blues were meant to mimic the contrast between Earth and deep space. Alan’s blues ran the gamut from troposphere to thermosphere. Gordon’s blue was deepest sea, rich and vibrant with life. His own was the steady blue of the horizon, solid and unwavering. Scott’s were nothing but sky: the pure powder blue of daylight and the deep blue of midnight.

Each uniform, along with its baldric and accompanying tools, was scanned after each use for wear and replaced as needed, their materials recycled as much as possible. This completely automated process took place in a specialized fab shop deep under the island. Any errors in manufacture could leave the wearer dangerously vulnerable, so each uniform was examined down to the microscopic level several times before joining the half-dozen available to each member. 

As Virgil knew it would, ‘a little loose’ turned out to be a marked understatement, rendering all six of Scott’s uniforms unusable--for the moment. However, he needed a space-rated uniform as well as a refit, so Scott had stripped to the skin and stepped into Brains’ scanner, just as he had for his very first fitting. Virgil watched as his brother stood behind the frosted privacy glass (more to spare Brains’ sensibilities than anything) and submitted to his new scan. While Scott’s expression was sliding towards annoyed at his still-recovering body, Virgil knew his own was more concerned. Scott had gained muscle in the weeks since returning to the island, but he was still nowhere near his former self. Once again, Virgil hoped he was doing the right thing by putting Scott back into uniform.

Twenty-four hours later, Brains stepped back with a smile and surveyed the fabber’s handiwork. “I think you’ll f-find that’s much more comfortable,” he said, adjusting his glasses on his nose. “How’s the fit?”

Scott stretched his arms up high, nearly standing on his toes, then sunk into a crouch. He flexed his hands, rolled his wrists, and shook out each foot in turn. “Feels great,” he chirped. He bounced on the balls of his feet a few times, then raised first one knee, then the other. “Feels  _ awesome _ , in fact.” He let out a long, satisfied sigh. “I forgot how good it feels when you first put it on.”

Gordon snickered. “And how it chafes when you’ve had it on for two days straight.”

“As you regain your muscle m-mass, we’ll refit you,” Brains said. “Let me know when it begins to get too tight.”

Gordon looked Scott up and down, then jogged forward in a playful boxing stance. “Looks good, bro,” he said, throwing a gentle mock-jab as Scott brought his vambraces up with a fond smile. “Nice to have you back in blue.”

“Nice to  _ be _ back.” He held out his arms from his sides and revolved slowly for Virgil’s inspection. “How ‘bout it, boss? Do I pass muster?”

“I think you and Alan could wear the same size right now, except that you’re taller,” Virgil quipped. “Seriously, you look good. I’m with Gordy; it’s great to see you in uniform.”

“Thanks.” Scott flexed his hands in the full-fingered gloves. “When do I go up?”

Scott waited anxiously for the elevator to dock and the airlock to cycle, and broke into a wide smile when the door finally irised open. John stood waiting, his eyes alight with pleasure.

“Hey, big brother,” John chirped as Scott stepped into the station. “Welcome aboard.” Scott found himself wrapped in a gentle hug, then John stepped back and looked him over from head to foot. “You look great. How are you feeling?”

“Doing good,” Scott assured him with a smile. “Glad to be here.”

“Let’s put your stuff away.” John led him to the crew quarters, and Scott dropped his bag on the bunk opposite John’s. “At the risk of setting off a cascade of events, things have been quiet today.”

“Well, that won’t last long; it never does.” Scott unzipped his bag and stowed the battered copies of ‘Catch-22’ and ‘The Right Stuff’ he’d brought, along with a small model of Thunderbird One, a plastic zip-top bag of toiletries, his shaving kit, and a few changes of the arming tunic and shorts they all wore under their uniforms. He shoved his pillow into the remaining space above the bunk, then shut the door securely over all before turning to his host. “There. All the comforts of home.” He grinned at John.  _ “Please _ tell me you’re gonna let me have some coffee.”

John laughed and followed Scott out of the small space. “I had to promise Grandma to make it decaf.” Scott groaned, and John held up a placating hand. “All right, we’ll compromise: Half caff, plus sugar. But don’t tell Grandma.”

“You’re killing me, spaceman,” Scott whined. “I’ll be floating around here half asleep.”

“That’s actually not a bad idea; several studies have suggested that zero-g sleep is--”

_ “John--” _

“I just don’t want you overextending yourself.”

“Stop it. I’m  _ fine.”  _ And he was, really; he was feeling stronger, sleeping better, and most definitely eating better than he had in a long while. For some reason, he thought sourly, it seemed like his family was overlooking those facts and just focusing on the muscle mass he’d lost. And that, too, was beginning to creep back, along with his endurance--a bit slower than he would have liked, but it  _ was _ coming.

_ “Almost  _ fine,” John corrected him as they made their way toward the galley. “Dr. Morton said he wants to see how you do up here before he gives you the final countdown back to active duty.’” He arched a ginger eyebrow. “By the way, nice of you to offer yourself up to the cause of science. What did Dr. Morton say--that he was going to write a paper about traumatic brain injury recovery in low-orbit space, with you as the subject?”

“Yeah,” Scott said, rolling his eyes. When Morton had proposed it, he’d been eager to help, but now he wondered what he’d gotten himself into. “Nice to know I’m useful as a guinea pig.”

“Now _ you’re _ the one who needs to stop,” John chided, reaching out to catch a bagel in his right hand, then another in his left as EOS chucked them from the provisioning locker. “You’ll be doing us both a favor, and getting back into the swing of things as well. I’d say that’s--”

“John, there is a distress call coming in. You are needed in the commsphere,” EOS broke in from the speaker overhead.

“Oh, uh--” John tossed the bagels at Scott, who caught them and laid them on the table. “Hold that thought. Go ahead and have something to eat. Coffee unit is on the wall, and mugs are in the cupboard. Everything’s labeled.” He zipped out the door, and Scott turned to the food prep unit, scratching his head.

“Now, where can I get some cream cheese in this joint?” he muttered.

As if on cue, a small door popped open, revealing a miniature refrigerator. A moment’s searching among the condiments and perishables revealed a pint-sized silver tub labeled ‘cream cheese’ in John’s clear, precise writing on the lid. Cackling to himself, Scott snagged the tub, shut the door, and addressed the air again. “How about a knife?” This time, a drawer popped open to reveal a set of plastic cutlery. “Nice,” he said, retrieving the plastic knife with a grin. “How about a beer?”

“Alcoholic beverages are strictly forbidden within the station, Scott,” EOS replied. “Besides, in your continuing convalescent state--”

“I know, I know.” Scott chuckled. “I was just joking with you. Hey, does John have a toaster?”

“Yes. Please reinsert the bagels into the delivery chute,” EOS instructed. “John often consumes his plain in the interest of time, but the galley is equipped with a toasting function.”

Scott did as he was bade and slipped the bagels back into the chute they’d been launched from. In just a few moments, another drawer slid open, revealing two perfectly toasted bagels, each sliced precisely in half. Scott took a long sniff of the comforting scent, and was smiling as he grabbed two paper plates from a dispenser under the cabinet. “Can you start the coffee while I finish this up?” he asked, prying open the lid of the tub.

“Of course,” she answered. “John can prepare the coffee manually, but I often engage the automated process so it is ready at the precise moment he awakens.”

Scott spread cream cheese on the bagel halves. “You really take good care of him, don’t you?” he asked, his tone thoughtful.

“John is my creator,” she reminded him. “Without John, I have no reason to exist. A great many of my subroutines are dedicated to his care.” She was silent a moment. “He is my best friend. He kept me safe from those who would use me for their own selfish aims.” The silence was several heartbeats longer. “I would do anything for him.”

Scott’s eyebrows climbed. “Yes, I believe you would.”

“Does that worry you?”

“Maybe a little,” Scott allowed. “I’ve seen what you’re like when you’re angry.” He retrieved a cup decorated with the old-style serif IR logo and poured it full of rich-smelling brew from the thermal pot set neatly into the wall, then added sugar from the covered container built into the coffee service unit. “However I’ve also seen how you two work together. He was a little lonely, I think, before you came along.” Scott sat and pulled a plate with two halves toward him, looking up as John walked through the hatchway.

“False alarm.” He retrieved his own well-used MIT mug and filled it with coffee. “Controlled burn jumped a freeway in California. I redirected the call to the local authorities; turns out they’ve been working on it for a while. I told them we’d keep an eye on them just in case. Hey, this is a big treat-- _ toasted _ bagels with cream cheese.” He sat opposite Scott and picked up his snack. “I usually scarf mine down as is and get back to the comm. _ ”  _

“EOS told me.” Scott smiled behind his mug. “So what are those ‘little jobs’ you need help with?”

John chewed a mouthful of bagel and chased it with a sip of coffee. “Well, the hydroponic farm needs tending,” he replied. “I think the light needs to be adjusted; my strawberries are a little pale. The zucchinis need to be harvested again; they’re just as prolific here as they are Earthside.” He blushed. “I’ve already given several pounds to Ridley and her crew; they said they’ve got all they can eat.”

“You signed me up to play  _ space farmer,” _ Scott laughed. “Wait till I tell Virgil.” He took another sip of coffee. “Speaking of Ridley...we didn’t even think about how my being here is gonna throw a spanner into your love life. Sorry about that.”

John blushed even redder. “It’s okay. It’s not like we go at it like bunnies up here.  _ No, wait--” _ His eyes widened as Scott sprayed a fine mist of coffee all over the table. “What I meant was--”

Still laughing, Scott got up from his seat to retrieve a sanitizing wipe. “I know what you meant. You’re both way too busy to be having sex marathons.” Scott wiped down the table, then tossed the disposable cloth into the recycler. “You’re an adult, you’re entitled to a life of your own outside of International Rescue. Captain O’Bannon-- _ Ridley _ \--is a nice girl. Woman. If you two need to spend some time together, I can go EVA and scrub the hull with a toothbrush or something.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” John said as the edges of his ears went pink, “but yeah, she’s...special.” His gaze went soft and far away for a moment, then he blinked and brought his eyes up to Scott’s. “She was really worried about you.”

“I got the flowers she and her crew sent.” Scott stopped and he, too, blinked. “No, she didn’t  _ send _ them. She  _ brought _ them to me.” He shook his head. “I was still kind of out of it when she came by.”

“She told me you were friendly but a little vague when she saw you.” John shrugged. “I guess she just wanted to see for herself that you were all right. She’s like that; she doesn’t let anyone do anything she thinks she ought to be doing herself.”

“Ah, a girl after my own heart,” Scott quipped. “That’s why she’s the captain of Global One.”

“What about you?” John asked, leaning his elbows on the table, coffee mug between his fingers.

Those turquoise eyes were much too knowing, and Scott glanced down into his own mug to avoid them. “What  _ about _ me?”

_ “Is _ there a girl after your own heart?”

Scott’s eyebrows went halfway to his hairline, and he uttered an embarrassed laugh. “Okay, so I dunno how we got on _ this  _ subject.”

“Just a question.” John sipped from his mug. “You’ve been saying lately that your accident has made you think about a lot of stuff. Has it made you think about finding someone?”

Scott nudged the uneaten second half of his bagel around on the plate. “A few times,” he admitted. “No one comes to mind, really.” 

“You’ve had plenty of girlfriends,” John said, a smile ghosting across his lips. “There must be  _ someone _ you’d get serious with.”

Scott winced as his face grew uncomfortably warm. “The last person I was serious with was Astrid Farrow.” Everyone after that had been after his money, his body, or both, and he couldn’t envision spending the rest of his life with any of them.

“Astrid, that girl you dated in high school? How about her?”

“She came to our ten-year class reunion. Married, four kids.” Scott sighed. “Still a knockout.”

“Oh.” John shifted on the bench. “Well, I know we said we would never date rescues, but I guess I broke that rule.” He grinned. “You should call up Marion Van Arkel and ask her out. Or that cargo pilot, what was her name? June?”

“Jane,” Scott gritted, feeling his own cheeks heat up. “Jane Carpenter.”

“She seemed nice. You should give her a call sometime.”

Scott stared at him. “I can’t believe I’m taking relationship advice from my space monk of a brother.”

John sighed, the picture of long-suffering. “ I was attracted to Ridley in a...different way. I didn’t immediately think ‘wow, she’s cute.’ She was my friend, someone who knew what my life was like day to day...then I realized that I missed her when she wasn’t around. Turned out the feeling was mutual.” He shrugged. “Honestly, I’m just as surprised as you are.”

“So you’re saying that if  _ you _ can fall in love with someone and make it work _ in space _ , that I should be able to find at least  _ one _ woman who’ll take me on?”

“Yeah, I guess I am.” John polished off his coffee and got to his feet, adding a long stretch. “You finished?”

Nodding, Scott tossed back the remainder of his coffee and handed the mug to John. “When’s your sleep cycle?”

John fished a plastic container from a cabinet and boxed up the uneaten bagel halves, then stowed them in the fridge. “Was supposed to start ‘bout an hour ago.” He wiped the mugs with a paper towel, then replaced them back in the cupboard and shut the door securely. “I wanted to make sure I was awake when you got here.”

“Aww, Jay, I could have held off for a few hours.” Scott gave him a brotherly thwap to the back of his gelled coif. “How about you give me a ten-minute refresher course and then hit the hay?”

Scott was not surprised when the ‘ten minute refresher course’ turned into almost an hour of detailed instruction. By the end of it, John was beginning to droop, and Scott sent him toward the crew quarters with a gentle push. “Okay, bedtime for you.”

“I’m going.” John unsuccessfully stifled a yawn. “Wake me if you need anything, okay?”

“Don’t worry, I won’t.”

Standing in the hatchway, John turned back to survey his older brother with a raised ginger eyebrow. “You won’t wake me, or you won’t need anything?”

“Yes.” Scott shooed him toward the door. “Say goodnight, Johnny.”

“Goodnight, Johnny,” the astronaut quipped, and Scott was alone in the commsphere.

Well, not precisely alone: “Good evening, Scott.”

“Good evening, EOS.” Resisting the urge to look up--his ersatz niece could scan him from anywhere in the station--Scott turned his attention to the main communications array, which was peacefully humming to itself at the moment. Just for practice, Scott initiated a scan over the planet that began at Tracy Island and moved over the Earth in ever-widening rings until it ended back at the Island. Satisfied that all was well, Scott retraced his brother’s footsteps out of the comm room.“What’s first on our to-do list?”

“As John mentioned, the hydroponic farm’s artificial sunlight needs adjusting.”

“Oh yeah, the strawberries. Hang on a minute.” He ducked into the crew quarters for a moment to check on John, smiling fondly at the sight of his brother’s long, lean form stretched on the bunk, a book dangling from one hand. As John rolled over, the worn volume fell with a plop onto the floor. Scott scooped up the book and placed it in the compartment above the bunk, then gave his sleeping sibling a gentle pat on the shoulder before continuing on his way toward the hydroponic farm.

“There, that’s got it,” Scott muttered to himself, giving final turn to a screw holding a panel flush against the wall of the bathing facility. “Okay, that’s one hydroponic light adjusted for optimum strawberry ripening, six zucchini harvested and boxed up, three marks of unknown origin scrubbed from walls, one replacement squash ball inflated, and three wiggly panels tightened.” Scott clapped non-existent dust from his gloved hands. “A productive evening, if I do say so myself.”

“Thank you, Scott,” EOS chimed. “John will be pleased at your efficiency.”

“You’re welcome. Leaves plenty to do though,” Scott mused, scrolling through the holographic list on his wrist comm. 

“Many of the items are experiments suggested by school children through the ‘Junior Astronaut’ science unit,” said EOS. “It is a source of frustration for John that many of the students must wait for an extended period of time before he is able to conduct their experiments.” 

“I know,” Scott said, eyes still on the list. “I was all for this, but some of these sound pretty off the wall.” He chuckled. “‘Have a zero-gravity pillow fight and measure the force needed to convey your opponent varying distances.’ Is that scientific?”

“Maybe not, but it sounds like fun.” 

At the sleepy voice, Scott turned to see John standing in the doorway to his quarters. “Hey, good morning, sunshine. We didn’t wake you up, did we?”

John waved his question away even as he yawned against the back of his hand. “No, my body pretty much knows when it’s time to wake up.” He smiled. “Been doing this for a while.”

“Yeah,” Scott allowed, watching his brother amble toward the main terminus of the station. “I picked your zucchini for you. Got some of the flowers, too.”

“Oh?” John’s voice floated back to him from the galley, then came back. “That’s right; Alan likes fried stuffed squash blossoms,” he said around a bite of cold bagel. “Never had a taste for them myself.”

“Me either,” Scott said, wrinkling his nose. “I--”

“John, there are two distress calls coming in simultaneously,” EOS broke in.

“Are they from the same emergency?” John asked, voice immediately falling into his ‘command and control’ register. 

“No. This is an ideal situation for Scott to take the second call.”

John grabbed Scott as the gravity turned off, expertly pushing off the floor and pulling Scott along with him. “Right. That’s a luxury we don’t usually have.” They gained the main commsphere, which was lit up like a Christmas tree, twin red icons floating over the massive holographic globe. With a sweep of his hand, John tossed the icon hovering over Belarus to Scott. “Stretch it out, and the sitch data will populate: Area affected, likely population, suggestion of Thunderbird best suited for the task.” John cracked a smile even as he got to his own work. “Brains thought of everything.”

“Hello?” shouted a woman’s voice with a thick Baltic accent. “International Rescue? Please, we need help! The river, it is rising!”

Scott did as John bade, his eyes scanning the information pouring into the station. “This is International Rescue,” Scott said. “I need you to stay calm. Can you safely get to shelter?”

“Yes, but water coming very fast!” The voice broke off in a thick torrent of syllables, directed to someone out of the camera’s range. “I send others away from river. I do not know how long is safe.”

Scott knew, and he hoped it would be just long enough for Virgil, Gordon, and Alan to get there. “We have eyes on your situation and are sending help.”

“ _ O dziakuj Hospadu, _ ” she burst out, relief evident in her voice. “Thank the Lord. We will wait for your coming, but hurry please.” 

Soon Thunderbird Two was en route to Belarus, which was still a tricky assignment even though eighty years had passed since the terrible accident at the Chernobyl power plant. The no-fly zone had shrunk over time, thanks to the engineers who had built a sturdy containment structure around the plant, but the area was still a hotbed of radioactivity--and the rising water would sweep even more contaminated soil into the area. 

A name from his earlier conversation with his brother pinged against his brain:  _ Marion Van Arkel. _ Spirited and headstrong, she had grown up in a South African uranium mine, and when he’d tried to rescue her from its ruined halls, he’d gotten a stinging earful about her ‘happy childhood’ when she’d spent hours exploring bore tunnels and mine shafts. These days, she acted as a consultant to the GDF, helping to decommission and clean up old nuclear power sites. A trip to Chernobyl would be right up Marion’s alley.

In fact, he mused, keeping one eye on the current rescue situation and simultaneously thumbing through the iR files for his own report on her rescue, he wondered if she might have a permanent presence in the area. He called up the window where his rescue contact was still visible, directing people in the background toward a long, low concrete building. “I have someone in your area who may be able to help. Do you know this lady?” He pulled up a photo of Marion he’d grabbed from the GDF database and sent it through the link.

The woman, the brim of her ripstop rain hat flapping in the wind, squinted at the display. She frowned for a moment, but then recognition dawned in the smoky quartz irises. “Miss Marion,  _ da. _ She is nice girl. Ask many questions.” The woman raised an eyebrow. “Is your girlfriend, yes?”

Scott felt his cheeks go instantly hot. “Er, no--She’s a friend of mine. She’s an expert on radioactive zones. I’m going to contact her and see if she can assist my team with your evacuation. They'll be there as soon as they can.”

Despite the real danger she was in, a small smile flitted across the woman’s face. “Thank you. We will be all right now, I think.”

He smiled back. “I think so, too.”

After connecting Virgil en route with the helpful citizen in the rain gear, Scott opened up another window and reached out to an IP address that as the head of International Rescue, he knew by heart. 

“Hello, International Rescue,” said Col. Valerie Casey, a smile lighting her cognac-colored eyes. “It sure is good to see you in uniform, Scott. How are you doing these days?”

Scott couldn’t help returning her smile; Val Casey had been a friend of his father’s, and she’d been part of the Tracy family since he could remember. “Doing better, thanks. Right now I’m easing back into duty up here with John--which leads me to the reason for my call. I need to ask a favor.”

She nodded. “Okay, shoot.”

“Can you put me in contact with Marion Van Arkel? I have a situation in Belarus near Chernobyl, and I think she’d be just the person to help us out. I hear from folks at the scene that Marion is a regular visitor to the area.”

“That she is.” Casey looked away for a moment to consult her own screen, and her eyebrows rose. “This will probably come as no surprise, but she keeps an apartment in the town of Slavutych, about fifty kilometers to the northeast of Chernobyl. You might try her there.”

Scott snagged the IP address and stashed it in another window. “Thanks, Aunt V. I owe you one.”

She laughed. “I’ll put it on your tab.” Her smile softened. “Take care of yourself, kiddo.”

When it came to rescues, Scott prided himself on knowing his job so well that hesitation was never a problem. Everything he did had been coded into his brain and his muscles from long practice, every action so well-rehearsed as to be automatic. This practice saved not only the lives of his rescues, but those of his team--and, if he was honest, his own. 

However, as he keyed Marion’s IP address, he felt oddly at sea. His hands were fully encased in space-rated gloves, but he still felt the need to wipe his palms against his uniform. He shook off the sensation and concentrated on being Thunderbird One, the Field Commander of International Rescue, and not  _ Scott Tracy, eligible bachelor. _

The window opened to reveal her face, brows knitted and russet irises playing hide and seek behind a charming pair of reading glasses. Her hair was shorter than he recalled--but no, now that she turned slightly, he could see that she’d bundled it into a messy knot at the back of her head. Her slender neck sloped into the soft folds of her sweater, and dots of light danced at her earlobes: small diamond studs, perhaps, or pearls. “This is Dr. Van Arkel,” she said, the words limned with irritation as well as the remnants of her Afrikaans accent. Then she blinked, and the line between her brows disappeared. “Well, hello, Scott Tracy of International Rescue!” She tugged off her glasses and gave him a smile. “This is a surprise.”

_ Professional. Keep it professional. You can do that, right, Tracy?  _ “Hello, Doctor,” Scott replied, giving her a smile in return. “It’s been a while.”

“It certainly has. Shackelton, wasn’t it? With that big brute in the purple armor?”

His eyebrows rose. “Right. Congratulations on the degree, by the way.” He hadn’t heard her referred to as ‘Doctor’ before, so he surmised she’d earned it in the time since they’d talked--which had been, what, a year? More? He’d have to look it up later.

“Thank you.” She beamed with pride and pleasure. “However, I’m fairly certain you didn’t comm me up in the wilds of Northern Ukraine just to chat.”

“Unfortunately, no.” He called up his rescue sitrep and culled the pertinent information, then sent it over to her with a swipe of his fingertips. “The Pripyat River is rising, and I’ve got some folks in the exclusion zone who need evac. Would you be available to consult?”

She slipped her glasses back on and turned her attention to the window he’d sent. “I know this village,” she mused, the window reflecting in her lenses. “I spent some time there last summer. Hardy folk, to stay where they do.” She sighed. “But home is home,  _ ja? _ Just because some people in white coats tell you that the air or the water or dirt is going to give you leukemia--even  _ that  _ isn’t enough to make some people budge.”

Scott arched an eyebrow. “Reminds me of a girl who made a playground out of a uranium mine.”

She blushed, but didn’t take her eyes from the sitrep window. “Touché.”

“Sorry. Couldn’t resist.” 

He  _ could  _ have, but he recalled how satisfying it had been during their first meeting to trade barbs with her. Yes, she’d been hostile and had nearly gotten them both killed, but he’d felt her trembling against him after they emerged from the crumbling mine. Wedged together in the back of the Mole, they’d shared a shaky ‘I can’t believe we’re alive’ smile. He’d had an unexplained urge to wrap his arms around her, maybe even to brush a kiss against those quivering lips. He’d met plenty of pretty girls on rescues, but something about her tenacity to hang on to her past made him feel as if they were kindred spirits. He’d recalled her determination to cling to her legacy in the days following the retrieval--and subsequent loss--of TV21, but the circumstances of his daily life had swept away the thought of getting in touch with her, and he hadn’t seen her again until he’d stepped into the power station at Shackelton. Even then, they hadn’t had time to exchange more than the barest of pleasantries before they were in the thick of things once again. When it was over--

He gave an internal sigh. He was lucky that the bulk of his memories were intact, but some things were still missing. He couldn’t recall what had happened after they’d left the shadowed power plant--or, if he was honest with himself, what exactly had taken place while they were there. He remembered Fuse, and donning the specialized orange radiation-proof version of his uniform, but the rest was a blur.

Belatedly, he realized she was speaking to him. “--can be at the checkpoint in about an hour,” she was saying. “Do you think your crew will still be there by then?”

Scott scanned the area map again, and tapped into the data flowing into the commsphere from Virgil’s suit cam and datapad. “They’ll probably be there all night. After everyone’s safe, I’ll do another sweep and make sure there’s no one still in the village. Then they’ll work on shoring up any existing structures and demo any unsafe ones.”

“They’ll need special protection against radioactive dust for that,” Marion said. “Do you have any, or should I bring some?”

“According to our supply list, we’ve got orange suits for everyone,” Scott informed her. He was very glad that Virgil kept meticulous records of what was aboard his ‘Bird; he couldn’t remember commissioning the special gear. “They should be all right, but thanks for the offer.”

“Hey--” She bit her lip, and she blushed again. “Thank you for thinking of me.” She frowned. “I’d heard from someone that you’d gotten injured on a rescue recently. How are you doing?”

“I’m doing better,” he answered, wondering what she’d heard, and from whom. “I was laid up for quite a while. Still not back in the pilot’s seat yet, so I’m visiting my brother John and giving my doctor a chance to see if injuries heal faster in zero-g.” He grinned. “Currently I’m twenty-two thousand miles above you.”

Marion blinked. “Wow! I had no idea your rescue operation was in space as well.”

“It’s sort of a need-to-know kind of thing,” Scott hedged. “Say, Marion…” He swallowed. “When I get my feet back on the ground...may I give you a call? I’d like to take you to dinner.”  _ There, that hadn’t been so hard, had it? _

“Dinner?” Her eyebrows rose. “Scott, are you asking me on a _ date?” _

Now it was his turn to blush. “That was the intent, yes.”

Her face relaxed into a soft smile. “Good, because I’d like that.” Then she shook herself and removed her glasses. “Well, I’d better get going. Please inform your ground team that I’ll be in Pripyat inside two hours, and keep me posted if the situation on the ground changes.”

“Will do.” Scott added Marion’s contact info to Virgil’s feed and relayed the message so that he would see it on his HUD display and his wrist comm. “Be safe.”

Her eyes twinkled. “Will do.”

As her window winked out, John floated over. “How’s it going?” He gave his big brother a quizzical smile. “Who were you talking to? It didn’t sound like a rescue.”

Scott kept his eyes on the suit cam window and dialed down on the terrain where the twisting line of the Pripyat River marked the divide between Ukraine and Belarus. “No, I was talking to Marion Van Arkel.” He glanced over at John, who looked a bit confused. “I called her in as my expert. And, if you must know, I asked her on a date when I’m dirtside.”

“You actually took the advice of your space-monk of a brother?” John chuckled and floated back to his own windows. “Good for you. I hope it works out.”

Scott leaned back and put his hands behind his head, feeling buoyant with more than just the effects of zero-g. “You and me both.”


	13. Ready, Set, Stop

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Scott suffers an unexpected setback, the family strives to reassure him of his place not only as a Tracy, but as a member of International Rescue.

**Thirteen: Ready, Set, Stop**

“Uuuuugh,” Scott groaned, pushing back from the commsphere and letting himself float. “What was that, four?” He yawned hugely as John shut down the remaining windows.

“Five,” John answered. “My record for concurrent rescue situations is six: Two active, two monitoring, and two in mop-up.” He, too, let himself float. “We’ve been operational around the clock for forty-eight hours. Per the GDF and our own charter, we’re dark for the next twenty-four.”

“Thank God Dad built that in.” Scott blew out a breath. “I could sleep for a week.”

John smiled wanly. “Technically, you’re still convalescing.  _ You _ could sleep for a week.  _ I’ll  _ be lucky if I get eight solid hours.” He shooed Scott over to the hatchway leading to the gravity ring. “You have a doctor’s appointment the day after tomorrow, if I’m not mistaken.”

“With Dr. Morton, yes.” Scott rubbed his bloodshot eyes and made a face at the sound of stubble against his gloves. “I hope I’ll give him lots of good data for his paper.”

“Well, you won’t be of much use to him or anyone else if you don’t get some sleep.” John clapped him on the shoulder, steadying his big brother on his feet as the gravity ring began to spin. “You go on ahead, I’m gonna make one more check before I turn in.”

Scott took a step and nearly fell on his face. “Whoops.” He straightened to fix John with a sleepy smile, then frowned. “Eww, gross.”

John raised an eyebrow. “What’s gross?”

“That smell.” Scott scrunched up his nose even as John pointed his to the ceiling. “Smells like burnt bagels.”

A frisson of alarm ran up John’s spine; there were many potential dangers aboard a space station, but fire was one of the worst. “EOS,” John called, pulling up a schematic of his station on his wrist comm. “Run a diagnostic; see if you get any hits for overheating.”

She was silent for all of twenty seconds. “My scan shows negative, John. All circuits are running within parameters. Also: There are no bagels currently in the toaster.”

“Huh. That’s weird.” Scott gave his underarm a sniff and shrugged. “Might just be me.” He yawned again and gave John a wave. “I’ll take a shower before I leave. Don’t stay up too long.”

“‘Night.” John smiled fondly at Scott’s back until he turned the corner toward the crew quarters, then moved back toward the mostly-dim display. “Finally,” he breathed, as EOS’ camera swung into place above him. “I love my job, but some days I wish I didn’t love it  _ quite _ so much.”

“I’m glad I don’t get tired,” EOS chirped. “Sleep looks terribly unproductive.”

“It really isn't,” John countered. “Humans need sleep to--”

“John! Scott has collapsed in the companionway!”

The urgency in her voice wiped the fatigue from John’s brain, and he sprinted into the corridor to find Scott lying in a crumpled heap of blue. John crashed to his knees beside his big brother and gently rolled him into the recovery position. “Scott! Can you hear me?” 

Although Scott was pale and didn’t move beyond a fluttering of his eyelids, John took a modicum of comfort in the fact that his brother was breathing. However as he watched, Scott’s body began twitching as if he were attached to a live wire. A long, low groan emitted from Scott’s open mouth, and tears welled in John’s eyes as he dashed into his quarters and snatched Scott’s pillow from the compartment. “I’m here, Scotty. You’re gonna be okay,” he soothed, gently sliding the pillow under Scott’s head. “EOS, how long has the seizure been running?”

“Twenty-five seconds,” she replied. “My medical scan capability is limited, but Scott has suffered no injuries, and his temperature is normal.”

“Not a febrile seizure,” John murmured almost to himself as Scott continued to convulse. “I’m here, Scott,” he repeated, even though he wasn’t sure his brother could hear him. “You’re not alone.” 

“Forty-five seconds,” EOS counted off. “Breathing rapid and shallow. Pulse rate elevated. One minute.”

John’s jaw tightened. “Prep the elevator for immediate departure. We’ll leave as soon as Scott is alert.”

“FAB. One minute thirty seconds.”

“Uuuuuuhhhh,” Scott moaned. “Nnnnuuuh--” The sound broke off abruptly, and John’s heart stopped. 

Scott lay motionless and silent for three long, eternal seconds--and then dragged in a wet, raggy breath that sounded almost like a snore. John slumped and let his head drop into his hands.  _ “Thank you,” _ he murmured to the universe in general.

Scott’s eyelids flickered and his body gave a final rebellious flex, flopping his head back on his limp neck. “Ngghh,” he groaned. “Zhh...zhaahn?”

John leaned down to Scott’s eye level, smoothing the sweaty hair back from his forehead. “I’m here,” he said, folding their fingers together. “Just rest.”

Panting as if he’d run a marathon, Scott lay where he’d fallen, clinging weakly to John’s hand. “Wh...wha hap’nd?”

“You had a seizure,” John answered. “Time, EOS?”

“Total active seizure time: Two minutes, fifteen seconds,” she replied. “Space elevator is pressurized and ready.”

“We’re gonna get you checked out here in a minute, okay?” John smoothed Scott’s hair again. “Just concentrate on getting all that good oxygen into you. In, out. That’s it.”

They breathed together for a few minutes until the glazed look left Scott’s eyes. “Johnny?”

“Got it in one,” John quipped. “You with me, big brother?”

“Think so,” Scott ventured, his voice like a rasp on metal. “Tired.”

“I know.” John tapped his wrist comm and they floated gently off the floor. “Let’s get your helmet, okay?”

Scott let John gather him up into his arms and propel them toward the airlock. “Where--?”

“You’re on ‘Five. We’re leaving in a minute and getting you to the hospital.” John snagged their helmets from the locker as he went past, letting go of Scott long enough to engage the neck seal and attach Scott’s helmet. After donning his own, he guided them toward the door. When the door irised open, John settled Scott into the seat and secured him for the short, but sometimes bumpy journey down to the surface. “Need to get you checked out.”

“Right,” Scott sighed, asleep as the word left his lips.

John watched him for a moment, then tapped his baldric. “Thunderbird Five to Tracy Island.”

“Tracy Island here,” chirped a sunlit voice. “What’s the latest, spaceman?”

“Gordon, alert Virgil that we need Thunderbird Two ready for immediate launch to Christchurch Memorial,” John barked. “Scott’s had a seizure. I’m bringing him down; ETA thirty minutes.”

All teasing instantly drained from Gordon’s voice. “FAB. How’s he doing?”

“He’s resting right now.”

“How long of a seizure?” Among his many credentials, Gordon was a certified EMT, and John let a small smile flit across his face at the quirks of the universe to give him just the right person to talk to.

“Two minutes, fifteen seconds. EOS can fill you in on his vitals.”

“Damn,” Gordon replied. “A  _ seizure _ . He’s gonna be _ so _ pissed.”

“Why?”

“Because, Jay,” Gordon said simply, “the GDF will pull his ticket. He won’t be able to fly.”

“I feel silly,” Scott was saying as Virgil secured him in one of the medbay stretchers. “Really, I’ll be fine on the jumpseat.”

“This is my ‘Bird, and I say safety first,” Virgil countered, tapping the bio readout into life. He pushed away the memory of Scott lying there a few months before, bruised, incoherent, and vomiting blood all over Gordon from internal injuries. “Just kick back for a while. Take a nap.”

“I’m  _ fine,” _ Scott retorted, then yawned. “That was just the power of suggestion.”

“Sure. And monkeys might fly out of my ass.” Virgil moved forward to plant himself in the pilot’s seat. “Everyone strapped in?”

“Are we there yet?” Gordon whined. “I’m  _ hungry! _ I need to pee! Alan’s hogging the tablet and won’t gimme it!” He blinked, all innocence as John and Virgil turned to fix him with identical annoyed frowns from the front seats. “What? This is like one of our old family trips. I thought I’d, y’know, add some authenticity.”

“Spare us,” Virgil groaned. “Launch in five, four, three, two, one, ignition--” ‘Two’s twin candles keened, and the big green behemoth began to rumble beneath them. In a few seconds, they’d cleared the ramp and the heavy lifter clawed its way into the clear blue sky. Virgil guided them past the marker buoy and away from the island. “Thunderbird Two is go.”

After settling them onto a course for Christchurch, Virgil glanced over at John. “How’s our impatient patient?”

John twisted in his seat, giving Scott a quick visual scan, then turned to the HUD receiving data from the bio-stretcher. “He’s asleep. Our EEG isn’t as sophisticated as the one at the hospital, but from what it’s picking up, he’s not showing any abnormalities.” John shrugged. “This might have just been a one-off, but we can’t take that chance.”

Everyone sat in silence for a moment, the implications of an epileptic Scott weighing heavily on them. If his head injury had brought on the seizure disorder, they would need to take significant steps in order to keep Scott safe--the most glaring of which would be to ground him.

“Can I just say it?” asked Alan.

“Say what?” Virgil asked, although he had the feeling he knew what Alan’s choice words about the situation would be.

“This sucks.”

“No,” Gordon countered. “It blows.”

“How about both?” John added.

“Both,” Alan replied. “Both is good.”

It was something of a novelty to approach a hospital without someone actively bleeding, barfing, or broken, Virgil mused as he settled TB2 on Christchurch Memorial’s helipad. Everyone was conscious, which also had to be some sort of a record. Well, Scott was asleep, but he’d done so voluntarily.

Dr. Morton was waiting for them in the Emergency entrance, arms folded and face composed, even if there was worry in the depths of his eyes. “Fancy meeting you boys here,” he quipped darkly. “Let’s get Scott some wheels.”

“I’m  _ fine,” _ protested the man in question, even as Alan grabbed a wheelchair from a line parked near the door. “Hi, Dr. Morton.” He snorted. “I planned on giving you the data for your paper...just not quite like this.”

“Trust me,” said Morton, leading the troop of civvie-clad Tracys through the busy ward and into a less-populated hallway, “you’re giving me an absolute ton of data. This is going to be one of the more interesting papers I’ve published.”

“Pulitzer material, is our Scotty,” Gordon cracked. 

“That’d be the  _ Nobel _ prize, Gordo,” Virgil corrected. 

“Eh, whatever. Just stick a blue ribbon on his forehead. Sooo-ey!”

“Uh,” protested Scott, twisting in his seat to fix Gordon with a piquant glare.

Dr. Morton chuckled and swiped his keycard at a door labeled  _ Same-Day Ward _ . “If we ever come to the day when I don’t see you boys on a regular basis, I’m gonna miss the Tracy sense of humor.” He grinned at his small army of followers. “It’s definitely the highlight of my day.”

“We’ll make sure to get banged up whenever we’re in the area,” Alan said, steering Scott into a curtained alcove on the wide ward. 

“Don’t even joke about that, Allie,” Virgil gritted. “Quick, find some wood.”

Five sets of knuckles did so automatically, bringing another chuckle from the doctor. “All right. I’m sure you’ll all agree with me when I wish this was just a social call, but--” He sighed as John and Virgil helped Scott climb up on the bed. “What happened, Scott?”

“I dunno.” Scott made a helpless gesture with both hands, and let them fall back to his jean-clad thighs. “One minute I’m telling John that I’m gonna go take a nap, the next I’m lying on the floor wondering why John looks like he’s seen a ghost.” He shrugged. “I  _ was _ tired, but I didn’t plan on taking my nap in the companionway.”

“Doesn’t sound like  _ my _ idea of a good time.” Dr. Morton had been flicking windows and displays into life as Scott spoke, and now he nodded to Scott’s chest. “Let’s have you gown up; I need to get you wired.”

“Do you want us to wait outside?” Virgil asked, hovering behind Gordon and Alan. 

“He ain’t got nothin’ I’ve never seen,” Gordon drawled, earning him a thwap on the back of the head from Virgil. “What? It’s true.”

“That’s the worst double-negative I’ve ever heard,” said John, giving the aquanaut a withering glare. “And ‘ain’t’ isn’t a word.”

“It ain’t?” asked Alan.

“Virg, get the comedy crew out of here so Dr. Morton can hear himself think,” Scott ordered, unbuttoning his shirt. “Do you want John to stay, since he’s my witness?”

“Yes, that’d be good.” Dr. Morton tossed a salute at the retreating Tracys. “See you guys later. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

“Hey Gordy,” Alan said as they followed Virgil out of the cubicle. “I met this really cute volunteer named Bibi a while back, I wonder if we could find her?”

“Sure, I’ll be your wingman, little bro.” Gordon breezed. “ I’ll even give you some tips on how to give her the ol’ Tracy razzle-dazzle.”

_ “Out,”  _ Virgil ordered, and they were gone.

Soon, Scott was once again sporting a hospital gown and little else, and John was folding his Oxford and jeans into a neat pile. Dr. Morton opened a drawer, grabbed a plastic bag labeled ‘Patient Belongings,’ and handed it to John, who stuffed Scott’s shoes in and then settled the clothes on top. Dr. Morton fished a Sharpie out of his pocket and gave it to John so he could label the bag with Scott’s name. “Maybe I should buy my own set of snazzy hospital duds,” Scott snarked irritably. “I seem to be wearing them enough these days.”

John smirked and handed back the Sharpie. “Maybe Penny knows a designer specializing in medical chic.” He cinched the top of the bag and tossed it on a nearby chair. “Remind me to give her a buzz later.”

“Hopefully you won’t need to,” said Dr. Morton, peeling the backing from an adhesive sensor and sticking it to Scott’s chest. “There, that’s the last of them. Now,” he said, tugging the gown back over Scott’s shoulder, “let’s talk about what happened today. What was going on immediately before the seizure?”

“Well, John and I had been working up at ‘Five since--what, last Tuesday?” He looked at John for confirmation. “I get my days mixed up when I’m up there.”

“A week ago Sunday,” John clarified. “We’d planned on having Scott stay at the station until his appointment the day after tomorrow.”

“And had you been busy?”

“Very,” John said with a nod. “We’d been working a number of rescues, and as invariably happens, the rescues piled up. We have mandated rest periods built into our rotation if our rescues clock over twelve hours, and we were following protocol on those.” He glanced over at Scott. “I thought I’d err on the side of caution and shorten Scott’s active comm duty to six hour stretches before sending him to bed.”

Dr. Morton’s fingers were flying over his datapad. “And how long is the rest period?”

“No less than two hours, but we shoot for three or four.” John shrugged. “It’s not a perfect system, but it’s one we came up with after consulting several experts on similar situations.”

“So you and Scott had been working together like this for how long?”

“Almost forty-eight hours,” Scott supplied with a grimace. “We’d signed off on the last one about five minutes before my seizure.”

“I see.” Dr. Morton made a notation on his pad. “Many people who suffer seizures report something odd happening immediately beforehand, such as an unexplained feeling of foreboding or giddiness.” He shrugged. “Some even report visual or auditory hallucinations, or a strange smell. Did you notice any of that right before the incident?”

“I honestly can’t remember.” Scott frowned and looked to John. “Did I do something weird?”

“You said you smelled burnt bagels,” John supplied. “It made me nervous enough to--ah, run a diagnostic on the station just to make sure it wasn’t on fire.” EOS was International Rescue’s secret, and John was determined to keep it that way. “Everything was fine. I turned around to mop things up and boom, you were out.”

“That’s called an ‘aura,’” Dr. Morton informed them. “It seems to be a sort of precursor to a seizure event. Of course, you  _ can _ have a seizure without having an aura, so they’re not the best predictors.” He glanced up at the wall of readouts. “Right now the rest of your body seems to be functioning normally: Blood pressure, pulse, respiration are all good.” He turned to survey both Tracys with a critical eye. “I’ll have to run a few tests to be absolutely certain, but I’m thinking this was a result of fatigue on top of a healing traumatic brain injury.”

Scott blinked. “So this was just a one-off? I don’t actually have epilepsy?”

“I’m going to reserve judgement on that for the moment,” Dr. Morton replied. “Anyone can have a seizure at any time, but of course having a head injury or an illness affecting the brain or nervous system puts you at higher odds for a seizure disorder.” He sighed and crossed his arms over his chest. “If you don’t have another incident in the next six months, then I’d say it’s unlikely that you have a seizure disorder.”

John jumped in before Scott could say anything about the timeframe. “But you’re going to run some tests to rule out anything else, if I’m understanding you correctly?”

“Absolutely.” Dr. Morton tucked his pad under his arm. “I’ve ordered a battery of scans, and we’ll keep you overnight for observation as well.” He gave Scott a tight-lipped smile. “We have another patient using the Tracy Neurological Recovery Unit, so I can’t give you your old room back, but we’ll find someplace comfortable for you.”

“Broom closet,” Scott quipped. “Nurse’s lounge, you know. Any old place.”

Dr. Morton chuckled. “We’ll see what we can do. In the meantime, just relax. I’ll see if I can get you two something to eat.”

_ “I’m _ fine,” John said, “but Scott definitely needs something; he hasn’t eaten anything since we left the station.”

“Noted. I’ll see you two soon.” 

When the doctor’s footsteps were out of earshot, Scott deflated, laying his head back against the pillow with a pained expression. John jumped up and was immediately by his side. “Are you okay?” he asked, a line of worry between his ginger brows.

“No.” One hand shot out and grabbed John’s arm when the astronaut would have rushed to summon help. “Not like that. I’m fine.”

John subsided into a chair, but didn’t say anything in hopes of encouraging Scott to elaborate. The pilot didn’t speak, so after a few moments, John gave him a verbal nudge. “So--?”

“Did you  _ hear _ him, Johnny?” Scott’s throat worked.  _ “Six months. _ I have to be seizure free for  _ six months _ before they can rule out epilepsy.”

“From what I hear, it’s a standard precaution,” John soothed, even as he felt his own stomach sinking at the implications of the words.

“I won’t be able to fly until they clear me,” Scott said, his voice small and quiet. “I thought…” His throat worked again, and a single tear rolled out of the corner of his eye. “She was  _ so close. _ I could almost feel the grips in my hands.” He curled his fingers into his palms. “So close, and now I’ve lost her again.”

“It’s just a minor setback--”

_ “Six months,  _ Jay.” Scott shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve been out of the sky that long since I got my license.”

John laid his hand on Scott’s wrist and gave it a comforting squeeze. “I know.”

Together, they waited.

Behind the glass of the radiology waiting area, Virgil watched as Scott’s prone form was positioned in the scanner. Scott lay on the table, motionless except for the flicker of his eyes as they took in the arc of the machine looming above him. The machine was smaller and more powerful than its predecessors, but it still required the subject to remain perfectly still for an accurate scan. Virgil admired his big brother’s ability to lay still even as he knew Scott was feeling restless in more ways than one.

John’s ghostly reflection appeared beside Virgil, his features rendered indistinct by the well-lit room beyond the glass. “How’s he doing?” John asked, handing Virgil a fragrant wrapped parcel. “Ham and swiss on rye with mustard, kosher dill on the side, per your request.”

“Oh, thanks.” Virgil took the food absently, eyes still on Scott, who hadn’t moved a muscle. “He’s a trooper, been letting them poke and prod him without so much as an ‘ow.’”

They watched as the technician, a young woman with a piecey bob that shifted from dark brown to bright red, moved smoothly around the room. She chatted with Scott as she angled instruments and tapped readouts, and Scott cracked a tentative smile that eased off a little of the tension in Virgil’s shoulders. When everything was situated to her liking, the tech stepped up to say something to Scott, her hand resting on his for a moment. He gave her a brave smile, and she returned it before settling a pair of noise-cancelling headphones over his ears. She made sure he was comfortable, slipped the emergency call-button into his hand, and then gave him a thumbs-up to indicate all was in readiness. 

“I think they’re getting started,” Virgil said, watching as the technician retreated behind her readouts. She slipped on her own set of noise-cancelling headphones, and Virgil smiled; the headband was decorated with a charming set of cat ears. Her hands danced over the input, and the machine began to make loud hammering noises as the magnets activated. Virgil screwed up his face. “Damn. Sounds like ‘Two when she needs an overhaul.”

John chuckled. “In before the jokes about Scott having a ‘magnetic’ personality.”

Virgil threw him a knowing smirk and turned back to watch the proceedings.

Thankfully, the scan only lasted a few minutes, and soon the technician was setting aside her headphones as she powered down the machine. Scott slid out of the machine, and she must have said something about getting a good stretch because Scott pulled off the headphones and did exactly that. He accepted her help to sit up, then gave back the headphones and the call button. The two talked for a few moments, and then the technician was motioning to Virgil to enter with the wheelchair.

“All done,” she was saying as Virgil entered the room. “Dr. Morton should be reviewing the results soon.” Her comm pinged, and she brought it out of her pocket to scan the message. “Looks like they found you a bed; I’m to direct you to the nurses’ station on the third floor, and they’ll get you settled.”

“Sounds good.” Scott nodded towards Virgil. “Here’s my chauffeur now.”

Virgil parked the wheelchair and stuck out his hand. “Virgil Tracy. Scott’s my big brother.”

She smiled and shook his hand. “Good to meet you, Virgil. I’m Jo.” 

He tipped his head toward their patient, who was beginning to wilt with exhaustion. “Looks like you need some rack time there, Scooter.”

“Agreed. I think I’m all tested out for one day.” Scott gave Jo a tired smile and put out his hand. “Thanks for making that fairly painless, Jo. Don’t take this the wrong way, but I hope the next time I see you, it’s not in a hospital.”

“Me too.” She shook his hand, her cheeks going pink. “Good luck, Scott.” 

Virgil fought the urge to roll his eyes; apparently the Tracy charm was undimmed by head injuries or hospital garb. “Okay, you old smoothie. Let’s get you horizontal for a few hours.”

Scott surfaced from a pool of sleep to the sound of his brothers’ voices, Virgil’s low rumble a counterpoint to John’s smooth precision. He lay there for a time, content to listen to them before jumping back into reality.

“...we’re gonna do this,” Virgil said quietly. “You’ve kept the board up to date?”

“I check in with them twice a week. It’s usually a short conversation, since Scott’s been doing so well.”

“So you’ll tell them about this latest... _ detour  _ when you check in?”

“I planned on doing that tonight, yeah.” John sighed. “Guess I can’t throw my ‘Happy Retirement from TI’ party just yet.”

Virgil chuckled. “I’ll buy you a latte instead.”

“The ‘congratulations for  _ almost _ retiring’ latte.” John’s soft laugh was tinged with bitterness at the edges. “Although here we are bemoaning our own disappointments, when Scott…” John trailed off. “He and I were talking earlier. He’s pretty shot down by this whole thing.”

“I’m sure,” Virgil replied. “The MRI will tell the tale, I think.”

“Scared the crap outta me,” John muttered. “Seeing him laid out like that. I thought ‘well, here we go’ and just had to wait it out.”

A scruffing sound told Scott that Virgil had rubbed his hands over his face in an effort to banish fatigue. “I always knew something like this could happen to us. It’s always there, but you get used to it, like an elephant sitting in the room that eventually becomes part of the furniture. Now it’s happened.  _ Keeps _ happening.”

“And because it’s  _ Scott--”  _ John supplied.

“Yeah. Because it’s  _ Scott,  _ the big bro, the  _ boss... _ it just seems that much worse.” 

“Although If it had been Allie or Gordy under that bank, with their heads bashed in and insides turned to hamburger…” Once again, John trailed off. “I think I know what he’d say.”

Virgil huffed out a humorless laugh. “Yeah, me too. If he could choose someone for it to happen to, he’d volunteer every time.” They were both quiet for a moment. “When Gordy had his accident, Scott told me he’d wished it had been him.”

John sighed. “I think we  _ all  _ had that thought.”

“Right.”

Scott decided these maudlin musings had gone far enough, so he made a show of stretching and yawning. “Hey. Sorry about that.” He rubbed his eyes. “Can’t seem to stay awake for more than five minutes at a time.”

Virgil patted his shoulder. “S’okay. From what Dr. Morton said, having a seizure wears you out.” The whiskey-brown eyes pinned him. “How do you feel?”

“Fine, just tired.” Scott glanced over at John, who was perched on his chair as if ready to jump up at any moment. “Relax, spaceman.”

“I’m relaxed,” the redhead protested, sinking back into the spindly chair and crossing one jean-clad leg over the other. 

Scott snorted. “If we stood you in a stiff breeze, you’d twang.” He sighed. “We might as well get this over with. Where’s the Terrible Two?”

“Last I heard, they were hanging around the volunteer’s lounge,” Virgil replied, tapping his wrist comm. “Something about finding a cute girl who was getting flirty with Alan.”

“Oh, yeah,” Scott mused. “Bibi. She and Alan made eyes at each other while he was running me back and forth to physical therapy.” He smiled. “I offered to wait while he got her number, but I guess having a sickly bro for a wingman isn’t real romantic.”

“Hearts and Flowers Department,” drawled a voice from Virgil’s comm. “Cupid speaking, how may I snog you?”

Virgil made a face. “Try again, laughing boy.”

“Yeesh, what a grouch.” Gordon snickered. “You should see Allie; he’s got Miss Bibi eating out of his hand.” A melodramatic sigh, accompanied by an exaggerated sniffle. “Makes a brother proud.”

“Well, tell him I hate to break up the lovefest, but we need you both up here.”

Alan’s voice cut in, concern evident in his tone. “Is Scott okay?”

“I’m fine,” Scott answered. “We just need to talk. All of us.”

“Uh oh,” said Gordon. “Sounds like one of  _ those _ kinds of talks.”

“Never mind what kind they are,” Virgil replied. “Just get your asses up here, pronto.”

“FAB,” came the reply in chorus, and the comm fell silent.

Scott settled back on the pillows and folded his arms across his chest. “This reminds me of when Dad used to get all of us in the living room and Talk to us with a capital ‘t’.”

“I think it was just the three of us for the first one,” Virgil mused. “That one was about girls.”

John rolled his eyes. “Thanks, Virg. I’d finally managed to forget about that.”

“Hey you two,” called Scott, raising his head to address the youngest two as Gordon groped the curtain to find the entrance. “How’s your ladyfriend, Allie?”

Alan emerged from the swirling folds of beige polyester, his cheeks pink. “She’s cool. I found out she’s a Cavern Quest player, so we’re gonna meet up on the server this weekend and have a frag fest.” He shrugged. “We’ll see how it goes.”

Virgil laughed. “Sounds real romantic there, Al.”

“You and Kayo should try it sometime,” Alan shot back. “She’s a badass with a sword.”

_ “While this is all very interesting,” _ Scott interrupted, “we need to talk about what’s going on with me.” He shrugged. “Not that I enjoy talking about myself, but right now, we don’t have much choice.”

Gordon slid into the remaining chair, and Alan folded himself cross-legged on the end of Scott’s bed. “What did the scan come up with?” Gordon asked, the laughing eyes growing serious.

“We haven’t heard the results of the MRI yet, but knowing my history and from what John told him, Dr. Morton said he thought it was a combination of fatigue and my brain still on the mend,” said Scott.

“That’s good news, right?” Alan looked from Scott to Virgil. “You just need to be careful and rest more.”

“It is, and I do, but--” Scott sighed. “Dr. Morton says that standard operating procedure for anyone who suffers a seizure without having a history of them is taking a ‘wait and see’ period before ruling out epilepsy.”

“How long does he want you to wait?” Gordon asked, though by the pained look on his normally genial features, Scott was fairly sure he knew the answer.

“Six months.” The words thudded into the room. “I’ll have to report my condition to the GDF, and they’ll suspend my pilot’s license until I’m cleared.”

They all sat in silence for a moment, absorbing the implications of that statement. 

“Well, you’ve been out for almost four months already,” Alan said quietly. “We’ve managed pretty good so far.” He shrugged. “Yeah, I miss having you with us, but--” He raised cornflower eyes to Scott’s sapphire ones. “I’d rather have you on the ground so you’re there when I get back, y’know?”

Alan was right, Scott mused. He’d run through every scenario in his mind, but they all stopped short at the thought of seizing at the controls of his ‘Bird or while hanging from his grapple line. He _ might _ be able to run the course at Gran Roca to get back into shape, but even then he’d have to have someone with him in case of emergency. Pushing down his disappointment, he gave his little brother an attempt at a brave smile. “Thanks, Allie. I know we were hoping I’d be back in the sky soon, but looks like we’ll have to wait a little longer for that.” He shrugged, trying to look unconcerned. “Until then, I’ll just have to find other ways to make myself useful.”

The next morning, the four mobile Tracys were once again clustered around Scott’s bed when Dr. Morton arrived. All eyes were on the doctor as he pointed at the pertinent window hovering over Scott’s head. “So far it’s good news. The MRI shows that Scott’s brain is healing nicely from his injuries, and no other anomalies are present in his nervous system. There’s a good chance that this was an atypical seizure.” He smiled at the assembled company. “As I said yesterday, if there is no further seizure activity in the next six months, Scott will be in the clear.”

“What sort of restrictions do you advise?” Virgil asked, as Scott shifted restlessly. 

“Fairly standard ones, actually,” Morton answered. “First and foremost--which is especially frustrating in  _ your _ situation--no operating heavy machinery.” 

“We knew that was coming.” Scott shrugged, sounding nonchalant even though Virgil could feel the waves of disappointment rolling from him. “We’re already working on changes to the duty roster that’ll fit with my status.”

“I’m glad to hear it.” Morton’s smile deepened. “The majority of people with seizure disorders live fairly normal lives--though perhaps not  _ Tracy _ normal.” The remark brought a chuckle to all present. “Other than that, I’d say exercise caution when you’re in a potentially hazardous environment--in the shower, on the stairs, anywhere there’s sharp objects.”

“Guess we need to get out Fermat’s old baby gates and keep you corralled,” said Alan, shooting a grin at Scott. “Grandma’s gonna have to cut your meat for you. And is a pen considered a sharp object?”

John plastered his hand over Alan’s mouth. “We’ll make sure he’s safe.”

“I’m sure you’ll all take proper precautions,” said Dr. Morton with a chuckle. “Scott, I’d like to see you again in three months’ time for a checkup--and of course if you have another seizure, alert me immediately.”

“Thank you Dr. Morton.” Scott reached out to shake his hand. “We’ll be in touch.”

“I’ll get your discharge paperwork put through, and you’ll be on your way in no time.” Morton smiled at the rest of the Tracys. “Nice to see you boys again. Keep an eye on your big brother, okay?”

“Are you kidding?” Gordon quipped. “With our crew on the job, Scott won’t be able to take a leak without someone tagging along.”

Days turned into weeks, and as the weeks passed, it was no surprise to anyone that the reduced duty did not set well with Scott, despite their efforts to keep him in constant contact over the comms. The former Field Commander’s mood sunk lower and lower, until one morning it came to a head as he and Ruth watched the team conduct a tricky firefighting operation in the Sierra Madre Mountains of Southern California. The entire region had been ablaze for nearly a week, and while the residents of both Santa Barbara and San Luis Obispo counties were grateful and cooperative, it was clear that both the Thunderbirds and the fire crews were nearing the end of their endurance.

“All crews, stand by,” Virgil gritted, his voice roughened with smoke inhalation. “Engaging harmonic suppressant.” The comm warbled as Virgil sent a concentrated burst of low-frequency sound waves toward the flames charring the hillside, and a weary cheer went up from the firefighters on the ground as the fire flattened and died. 

_ “Because he’s all about that bass, ‘bout that bass, no treble,” _ Gordon sang out, but John cut him off.

“That was funny the first time. Now it’s just annoying.”

“Just telling it like it is, Jaybird,” the aquanaut drawled. “Big V brings the thunder in more ways than one.”

“And how,” Alan chirped. “Hey Thunderbird Two, the first aid station is done patching me up. I can give Gordon a hand if you need me to.”

“There’s still some hot spots down in the canyon,” John confirmed. “Thunderbird Three, how’s your arm? Can you drive the pod?”

“Sure, it’s just a scratch,” Alan volleyed back, brandishing his forearm where a white bandage hid a deep gouge carved by a rusty curl of barbed wire. “Good thing  _ somebody  _ bugged me to get my tetanus booster last month.”

Virgil huffed out a laugh. “Next time, don’t make me threaten to sit on you.”

“That farmer was sure glad to have his cow back,” John added, a smile flitting across his blue-tinged holographic form. “You did good, Alan.”

Alan’s grin flashed in his sooty face. “Yeah, poor thing was pretty spooked. If I hadn’t gotten her loose, she’d have been charbroiled on the hoof.”

“Watch the flare-ups, guys,” Scott cautioned. “Don’t let your retardant foam get below a quarter tank; keep it topped up. Thunderbird Two, you’re sounding pretty rough from that smoke; Thunderbird Five, slave ‘Two to your control so Virgil can change out his oxygen tanks in case he has to get back out there. I don’t want anyone breathing any more smoke than you have to.”

“FAB Thunderbird One,” John said smoothly, his hands dancing in midair. “Ready when you are, Virgil.”

“Thanks,” said Virgil, ending on a cough. “CAL Fire is mopping up the hillside, so I can spare two minutes.”

Ruth came to stand beside Scott, slipping an arm through his as he stared up at the globe and listened to the chatter. “They’re all right, sweetie,” she murmured. “Remember what Dr. Morton said: You need to back off while you’re still healing.”

“I should be out there,” Scott muttered under his breath, his eyes locked on the feed from ‘Two’s cameras. “I should be out there helping them.”

Ruth sighed. “Honey, I know that they miss you as much as you miss them, but fretting like this isn’t helping  _ anyone.”  _ She gently tugged at his arm. “Why don’t you go rest for a bit?”

_ “I’m sick of resting,” _ Scott snarled, making Ruth jump. An icy spike of regret shot down his spine. “Wait,” he backpedaled, but judging by the hurt simmering in her eyes, the damage was done. He turned his eyes back to the holographic globe so he couldn’t see his grandmother’s face. “I know that sounds dumb, considering that a full eight hours is a rarity around here, but...this is different.” He gripped a handful of the gelled spikes on his crown and tugged before letting go. “What I mean is that I’m sick of sitting on my ass, making no contribution.”

Ruth marched up to Scott and planted her diminutive frame directly under his nose, her teal blue eyes blazing with indignation. “I will remind you  _ one more time, _ Scott Carpenter Tracy,” she growled. “You are _ here _ . You  _ survived. _ And let me tell you something: You will do  _ exactly _ as your doctor says as long as he says to do it.” She took a single step forward, hands curled into fists. “You wanna find out  _ exactly  _ who calls the shots in this family?  _ Just try me.” _

_ “Grandma,” _ Scott breathed in disbelief.

Ruth didn’t move an inch. “What’s it gonna be, Scotty? You gonna listen, or what?”

Scott cast one last look at the globe, then at his grandmother’s stormy face. With a sigh, he looked away. “Might as well. Not like I can be of any use here.”

“Good choice.” Ruth relaxed just a fraction as Scott turned to go. “And no listening in on your comm, either,” she called after him. “I don’t wanna hear anything except snores coming out of your room.”

When he reached his room, he didn’t bother to turn on the light. He kicked the door shut and flopped on his bed, landing with all the grace of a pile of bricks. His conscience gnawed at him; Grandma was just trying to make him feel better, and she didn’t deserve his ire. He made a note to himself to apologize later, then wrapped himself in the duvet in hopes that sleep would improve both their moods.

The next morning, Scott was carefully applying his razor to his jawline while Gordon sat on the lid of the toilet, thumbs busily attacking the screen of his phone. The three on the ground had worked out a loose rotation of hanging out in Scott’s room while he got a shower of a morning, and today was Gordon’s turn. Scott rinsed his razor in hot water, then peered closely at the mirror to take another slow swipe at his foam-covered cheek. 

“Really wish you could have been there yesterday,” Gordon said, as tiny sounds of struggle came from his device. “One of the tankers was grounded for repairs; we could have used ‘One hauling a bucket of flame retardant.”

“Allie could have taken ‘One.” Scott scraped gently at his upper lip. “Still, you guys did pretty good, though.”

“Thanks.” A tinkle of victorious notes chimed on the air, and Gordon smirked before attacking the screen again with deft fingers. “I know this sucks, though, having to watch everyone from the sidelines. I get that.”

“I know you know.” Scott rinsed his blade again, but hesitated before starting on the right side of his face. “I never would have left you behind, Gordy,” he said quietly, his tone making the aquanaut abandon his video game to look up at his big brother. “Even if you’d been disabled after your accident, I wouldn’t have let you sit by and watch us be Thunderbirds. I would have-- _ Dad  _ would have found a place for you.”

Gordon was silent, his hands motionless. “Are you afraid that’s what we’re doing? Leaving you behind?” He shook his head. “ _ Never. _ On Mom’s grave, I swear that we would never,  _ ever _ do that.”

Scott blinked, the mention of their mother bringing him up short as it always did. “I know you wouldn’t.” He fiddled with the razor handle for a moment, then turned back to the mirror and swiped the razor through the foam on his right cheek. “Just feeling sorry for myself, I guess.”

“Well, like you said,” Gordon said, turning back to his game. “You would have found something for  _ me _ to do. You just gotta do the same--find something that you can do for us while you’re in sort of a holding pattern.” He shrugged. “It’s not like we’re gonna hold auditions for another Thunderbird One, because that’s  _ you _ , and that’ll  _ be _ you until you hang it up.”

“Or until some other concrete slab finishes me off,” Scott quipped darkly, rinsing his razor and drying it before stowing it back in its case. 

“Hey man,  _ you _ said it, I didn’t.” 

Scott splashed his face with first warm and then cold water, then grabbed a snowy towel from the rack and applied it to his newly-shaven face. “Do you ever wonder if Dad set the bar too high?” he asked, staring into the mirror without seeing his reflection.

“How d’you mean?” Gordon frowned, though whether it was at his game or the idea that their father might have made a mistake, Scott couldn’t say.

“What was he thinking, asking five young guys to save the world, day in and day out?” Scott draped the towel on the rack and then turned to lean against the sink, his bath sheet still tied around his hips. “We answer to no one but ourselves. Our equipment is proprietary. We’re on call more often than not.” He huffed a mirthless laugh. “I don’t know how  _ any  _ of us are gonna find time to get married.”

“Brains did,” Gordon countered. “Virg and Kayo are thinking about it. I never thought I’d be using the words ‘John’ and ‘married’ in the same sentence, but he and Ridley seem headed in that direction.” He blushed. “I...haven’t asked her yet, but if Penny would have me, I’m willing to take the chance.” He grinned. “Heck, even Grandma found Kip.  _ You’re _ the only one who’s holding yourself to some imaginary standard.”

“This is a hard life,” Scott reminded him. “Everyone’s found someone at least marginally involved with International Rescue.”

“Something wrong with that?” Gordon raised an eyebrow. “In answer to your question: No, I don’t think Dad set the bar too high. The Island’s not supposed to be a monastery.” He shrugged and abandoned his game. “Dad didn’t just sit around and wait for life to happen to him. I don’t think he’d want us to do that, either.”

They sat contemplating their absent father for a long minute, until Scott shook himself out of their reverie. “You know, I might have something I can do while I’m waiting,” he mused.

“Oh?” Gordon stretched his arms above his head, his rebuilt spine popping and cracking audibly. “Whazzat?”

Scott smirked. “I can go on a date.”

Gordon’s eyes widened. “For real? Who?”

“Marion Van Arkel. John suggested her.”

“No kidding.” Gordon laughed. “Shackleton, right?” He got up from the toilet lid and followed Scott out of the bathroom to lower himself cross-legged on the perfectly made bed. “The defunct uranium mine, too.”

Scott moved into his closet and tossed the towel into the laundry chute, then reached into well-ordered drawers to retrieve socks and a pair of boxer briefs. “That’s her.”

“Whew, she was about as cuddly as a porcupine, as I recall.”

“Yup,” Scott confirmed, pulling on a pair of jeans and snatching an Oxford from a hanger. “I had the chance to talk to her while I was up with John; I asked her to consult on a rescue near Chernobyl. She’s changed quite a bit since our first encounter.” Buttoning his shirt, he walked back into his room to find Gordon laying back on the bed, looking up at the ceiling with his hands behind his head.

“Huh.” The aquanaut sounded thoughtful. “Well, I guess you gotta start somewhere.” 

Scott barked out a laugh. “Thanks, I think.” He sat beside Gordon to pull on his socks and lace his Chucks. “If we get married, I’ll be sure and tell her she had your full confidence from the get-go.”

Gordon made a rude noise. “I think I see another amnesia-inducing head injury in your future.”

“No thanks.” Scott slapped him in the solar plexus, sending a surprised grunt out of his younger sibling. “Now get off my bed; you’re wrinkling it.”

With a groan, Gordon rolled off the mattress to land on all fours on the floor, coming up just in time to see Scott carefully smooth out the duvet. The entire room looked as if it were either ready for inspection or the pages of a classy home interior magazine, and Gordon whistled as Scott stood back to survey his handiwork. “That’s  _ way _ too much trouble for something that’s just gonna get slept in.” He narrowed his eyes at Scott. “Are you  _ sure _ we’re related?”

Scott laughed; Gordon’s room was a howling disaster that only Grandma dared enter, and only to deliver clean laundry. “‘Fraid so, fish. Mom went into the hospital pregnant, and she came out with you. I was there.” 

“Coulda been switched at birth,” Gordon proposed, doing a few fingertip pushups before springing to his feet. “There could be a rogue Tracy out there that no one knows about.” He followed Scott out the door, keeping within arm’s reach as they descended the steps. “Someone waiting to discover their birthright and take their rightful place in the family.”

“Oh really?” Scott raised an eyebrow as Gordon followed him into the kitchen. “Then what do we do with  _ you?” _ he asked, pouring himself a cup of coffee. 

“Well, you  _ have _ to keep me; I’ve been here too long,” Gordon volleyed back. He grabbed a banana out of the fruit bowl and proceeded to peel it to an acapella version of “The Stripper.”

Scott grinned at his brother’s antics. “Absolutely, because I wouldn’t trade you for anything.”

During his short stint as Interim Field Commander, Virgil had made several critical decisions--the largest of which was the continued operation of International Rescue, despite being down a member. Losing Scott’s day-to-day presence in the field had made him want to shut down until his big brother was himself again, but reality--and the ethic that their father had instilled in them--had dictated otherwise. When it came down to brass tacks, Virgil had been secretly glad to get back into motion, rather than simply sit and wait for a day that might never come.

_ Never give up at any cost. _ As he tended to his ‘Bird in the massive hangar, his father’s words echoed in Virgil’s inner ear.  _ We haven’t so far, Dad, _ he mused, feeling as if he would only have to turn around to see his father looking over his shoulder.

With his father's smile in his mind's eye, he turned to grab up his favorite screwdriver. As he did so, something moved by the forward port landing strut, and Virgil gave a yelp and stumbled back, one grease-stained hand clutching at his chest as a tall, dark-haired figure came into view. “Holy shit, Scotty,” he gasped. “I thought you were Dad.”

Scott’s smile was sad as he reached out to touch the strut. “I wish it was,” he replied. 

Now that his heart had decided to settle back into its usual place, Virgil blew out a heavy breath. “You and me both.” He smiled and went to stand next to Scott, pulling a stained rag from a pocket of his coveralls to wipe his hands. “Nice to see you down here. I was beginning to think you’d forgotten how to get to the hangar without using your load-in.”

“Never.” Scott raised his head to look at the flat expanse of ‘Two’s underbelly, turning to take in every inch of the scarred green metal. “She’s holding up really well, considering everything we throw at her,” he mused aloud.

“Built to last, that’s for sure.” Virgil stuffed the rag back into his pocket and joined his brother in gazing up at the beloved heavy lifter. “Did her integrity scan just the other day. No welds popped, no stress fractures. Dad and Brains knew what they were doing; Caehelium is some serious shit.”

“It’s also because her mechanic and pilot does a hell of a job looking after her,” Scott volleyed back. “Unlike her much-neglected sister.”

“Not so,” Virgil retorted as they left the shadow of Thunderbird Two and approached Thunderbird One’s silent berth. “She and I have been getting to know each other lately.” He smiled up at the machine, eyes lingering on the proud letters proclaiming her call sign. “Did her scan too, and she’s fit as a fiddle. All she needs is a top-up of her tanks, and she’s ready to go.”

“Whenever  _ that _ is,” Scott muttered. He looked up at Thunderbird One for a long moment, her silvery hull reflected in the deep blue wells of his eyes. “Do you know, Virg,” he began quietly, “for as long as I can remember, all I’ve ever wanted to do was fly.”

“And so you have,” Virgil countered. “You’ve flown the most advanced aircraft on the planet, and done it well.”

Scott continued to stare at ‘One as if he could caress her hull with a look. “It never gets old. Every time I’m in the air, I know that’s where I’m supposed to be.” Then the loving look melted, and he turned to face his younger brother, agony on his features. “I never told anybody this, but--I wanted to  _ die _ in that chair,” he choked. “I didn’t plan on outliving my ability to fly.”

Pushing aside the thought of Scott getting his wish, Virgil gently laid his hands on Scott’s shoulders. “You  _ haven’t,” _ he insisted. 

“Not you too,” Scott moaned. “Everyone’s a Pollyanna around here, trying to blow smoke up my ass, and it’s getting old.”

“We’re  _ not  _ trying to blow smoke up your ass.” Virgil ducked his head to look into Scott’s face. “When you were still asleep, John said  _ I _ wanted you back more than  _ you _ might ever want to be back...and I had to agree with him. No one wants to see you in that cockpit more than I do. Not because I want less responsibility, but because my world-- _ our  _ world--makes sense with you there.” He, too, looked up at the elusive prize shimmering in her silo. “But shame on me if I ever thought of hurrying that day. I don’t want you there until it’s right.”

Scott began to tremble. “I’m scared, Virg,” he whispered. “I’m scared that I’m gonna have another seizure, and she’ll be gone for good.”

Virgil’s heart broke for his older brother, and he drew him into his arms to try and quell the shaking. “You can’t stress yourself out like this. Either you will, or you won’t, but there’s no need to think about it any more than that.” 

“How can you say that?” Scott pulled away, his tears bright in the harsh lighting. “The future of International Rescue depends upon my ability to be a contributing member. Yeah, you guys have been doing okay, but I just can’t believe that you won’t need me--need  _ her _ \--ever again,” he corrected.

His own tears threatening, Virgil cupped Scott’s face in his hands, keeping their gazes locked. “We need you  _ both. _ And if you’re not in the chair, then it’ll be Allie, or Gordy, or even John, and you’ll still be calling the shots. We’ll still be a team--a damn good team, like we’ve always been. Maybe some of our job descriptions will change, but we’ll still be functioning.”

“But...I won’t be a Thunderbird.”

Virgil had heard many cries of pain, many utterances of bitter regret or grinding shame, when those in peril believed themselves at fault for their circumstances. Instead of stirring his sympathy, Scott’s words had the opposite effect: Determination lit his nerves on fire, and from Scott’s gasp, he knew that fire had reached his eyes. “As long as you’re part of this family, you’ll  _ always  _ be a Thunderbird,” Virgil insisted. He pulled Scott back into his arms and held him tight. “I promise.”


End file.
